


Darkest Dungeon

by GentlemanneJack



Series: Into the Dungeons ‘Verse [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Gaping, Bondage, Bukkake, Cervix Penetration, Come Inflation, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Double Penetration, Extremely Dubious Consent, Feminization, Forced Feminization, Gaslighting, Incest, Intersex, M/M, Male HuCow, Male Lactation, Manipulation, Masturbation, Mind Break, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Play, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Object Insertion, Objectification, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pregnancy Kink, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Self-Lubrication, Sexual Harassment, Slut Shaming, Spanking, Tentacles, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:49:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24722578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GentlemanneJack/pseuds/GentlemanneJack
Summary: In which a stupid older brother is tricked into going through a magical dungeon that turns him into a sex toy for his sly younger brother.(has nothing to do with the game!)
Relationships: Original Male Character/Dungeon, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Into the Dungeons ‘Verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1792882
Comments: 105
Kudos: 1014





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> loosely set in a world that runs on video game mechanics, with leveling and xp
> 
> embarrassingly enough, it's been brought to my attention that i appear to have been heavily subconsciously inspired by a hentai manga called "[Shimanto Seiryuu (Shimanto Youta)] Mesu Trap." oops. so proper credit where it's due!

Every morning, Desmond greeted Oliver with a hard smack on his ass. Sometimes, it felt like he threw in a quick squeeze, fingers digging into the flesh, brushing perilously close to Oliver’s hole. Oliver hadn’t figured out a way to bring it up in a way that wouldn’t embarrass his little brother or make him sound like a pervert, so he let it drop. Men slapped each other’s asses all the time. Desmond was just overenthusiastic.

And innocent, he thought ruefully. When Oliver had been that age - only four years ago - sex had been on his mind constantly. It seemed like all he’d done through most of his teen years was curl up in a corner and wrap his fingers around his dick, trying to ignore the growing wetness between his legs.

Desmond didn’t even seem to know what sex was, though. They’d started journeying together two years ago when Desmond finished his apprenticeship under the local swordsman and been officially named a Level 1 adventurer. Since then, Oliver had seen plenty of women flutter their lashes at his tall, golden-haired younger brother, and seen his brother gaze cluelessly back at them and ask if they had something in their eye.

Oliver had done his best to encourage him - God knew it had killed him every time he turned a woman down - but Desmond shrugged, looking bashful. “I don’t want just anybody,” he said. “They gotta be special, you know?”

That kid, Oliver thought fondly. 

It had been one of the most difficult conversations of his life, but a year ago, Oliver had finally broken down and told his younger brother that it wasn’t really appropriate to pinch his nipples when they wrestled and play-fought. Desmond liked doing that, like they were still a couple of kids rolling around together.

“You’re just saying that because I always win,” Desmond said with the air of someone delivering a foolproof argument. “You’re such a goddamn cheater. Can’t take a little tit play.”

Oliver flushed and fought the urge to cross his arms over his chest. Desmond’s gaze had dropped down to his chest, a smirk tugging his lips. It was their day off and they’d foregone their usual armor. Oliver had stripped down to the waist. Yesterday Desmond had pinned him down, knees on his shoulders to keep him immobile, fingers racing over his sides as Oliver squirmed away. He’d grabbed both of Oliver’s nipples and tugged on them while Oliver yelled between gasps to stop. The rough treatment had left red and puffy, slightly swollen still. That was why Oliver had gone shirtless today, the rough fabric irritating the sensitive flesh.

(His underwear had been wet with slick as he peeled them off that night. He didn’t acknowledge that.)

“That’s not it,” Oliver said sternly. He drew himself up, taking a deep breath. His chest swelled up. Desmond’s eyes went dark. 

“You don’t see me grabbing your tits,” Oliver said. “How would you like it if I did that?” He took a step forward, holding his hands up menacingly in jest.

“Aw,” Desmond said, “but mine aren’t as big and juicy as yours.”

Oliver resisted the urge to turn red. Redder. Desmond had been saying that kind of shit to him since they were kids, just to get a rise out of him. His tits - his _pecs_ \- were no bigger than anyone else’s. Oliver had no desire to explain to his brother why being compared to a girl flustered him so badly. Really, he should have put a stop to it sooner. No wonder Desmond didn’t get it.

“I mean it,” Oliver said. “I’m your older brother and you need to listen to me.”

Desmond rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he said, but the next time they started horsing around, Desmond stayed carefully away from his chest. He was such a good kid. Polite. Respectful.

Not long after, the spanking had started.

*

Since they had started adventuring together, Desmond had reached Level 9 and traded in his wooden sword for a blade that caught the sun with every swing. The handle had a carved dragon wrapped around it, its tail twining around the blade. He’d grown at least six inches in height and filled out. Swinging a sword all day built muscle along his shoulders; walking and running all day made his legs long and lean.

It had been Desmond who first proposed they partner. Desmond had been 13 and clingy as anything, tagging along behind Oliver determinedly _so that you don’t get kidnapped._ Paranoid little shit, Oliver had complained.

Desmond had already been studying under the local swordsman, trading lessons for basic chores. Oliver had worked out a similar arrangement, but it had been clear that he would never be more than passable. Desmond had the talent. It would be better, Desmond said, if Oliver learned a support skill, so that by the time Desmond graduated they’d be a team.

It was a good plan. Oliver had agreed and found work with the local healer, who was always grateful for an extra pair of hands. He took up archery, to provide some form of long range combat, and was pleased to find that he was better suited for the bow than he had been for the sword. He’d stayed slim and somewhat small, never really gaining the height that the gods blessed his brother with. And, fine, all the archery had caused his chest muscles to get a bit bigger, but the difference was hardly noticeable.

Since they’d set out, it had been one quest after another. Oliver was, frankly, exhausted, and when Desmond proposed they take a break at an inn for a month or two, he’d been relieved. They had plenty of gold, but Desmond had suggested they share a room.

At that, Oliver had hesitated.

Desmond made fun of him for that. “We’re brothers,” he said. “You got something to hide? Feeling a little shy?”

“Fuck you,” Oliver said. Desmond had grinned, then swept his legs out from under him and thrown him over his shoulder, one hand casually gripping his butt cheek. Then tossed him into the nearby lake, laughing when Oliver surfaced red-faced and sputtering.

The inn was great. Good food, cheap beer, decent music. A steady stream of adventurers coming through kept it safe and reputable. The rooms had copper bathtubs inlaid with talismans that turned the water hot as soon as it was poured in, which was an unheard of luxury in the wilderness. Desmond, shameless as ever, bathed whenever he felt like it. Oliver always waited until he knew his brother was occupied for at least a few hours.

The inn even had laundry service. Desmond collected their dirty clothes and delivered them to the maid, who returned everything the next day clean and pressed.

The only problem was -

Oliver groaned.

His underwear was going missing. He hated confrontation, not to mention the maid was a sweet, giggly girl barely out of adolescence. She’d probably lost his clothes and not realized. Underwear was cheap, he might just buy some more in the local shops and avoid dealing with it. He’d hate it if she were fired over the error.

He had to have at least one pair left. There was no way he was going commando.

Desmond had left that afternoon with a vague mutter about going for a walk. Oliver had seized the opportunity to take a long bath. Now, however, he found himself naked and rooting around on his hands and knees for clean clothes. He stuck his head under the bed, trying to reach for the bag that had gotten shoved into the far corner beneath it. Legs splayed open, his ass stuck out behind him, pointed towards the doorway.

He didn’t hear the door open and close, or the sharp intake of breath. But he did hear the footsteps of his brother approaching, and jerked out from beneath the bed and scrambled to his feet.

Desmond was staring at him, mouth open in shock.

Oliver backed away, hands out in front of him. “You didn’t see anything,” he said immediately. Humiliation turned his fair cheeks red. He didn’t know where to look.

Desmond licked his lips. When he spoke, his voice came out hoarse. “Do you have a pussy?”

*

Oliver had a pussy. He didn’t like thinking about it - it set him apart from other boys. He’d heard of boys with pussies before, but never of boys with both cock and pussy, and instinctively he knew it was something he needed to keep secret. As he got older and conversations with his agemates became more lewd, listening to his friends talk about how much they wanted to shove their cocks into pink, wet holes and wreck their slits made him uncomfortable.

Not in a way he understood, or wanted to understand. His cock would stand up during those conversations, taking an interest in hearing more. That, he could handle. What made him nervous was the throbbing heat in his pussy as it clenched around nothing, the clear slick he’d find coating the inside of his underwear.

He jerked off sometimes. But he never fingered himself, refused to even think about it. He was a man - a man that sometimes pinched and rolled his nipples when he masturbated, a man whose pussy dripped and drooled at the slightest provocation, a man who sometimes thought about tilting his hips up and back so that his little brother’s smacks would land on his clothed pussy. These thoughts made shame build low in his gut, so he stopped jerking off. His body was perverted, but his mind didn’t have to be.

But now his little brother knew his secret.

*

There was no hiding it. Oliver bit his lip, then admitted, “Yes.” His eyes shot up to meet Desmond’s. “It’s a secret. Don’t tell anyone, Desmond, I mean it.”

“You say that a lot,” Desmond muttered, and took a step forward. Something about the way he moved made Oliver uneasy, an instinct triggered in his hindbrain. But it was Desmond, his baby brother, so he ignored it.

Oliver scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed. “It’s embarrassing,” he snapped. “Try to understand where I’m coming from, little brother.”

“You’re still a man,” Desmond said soothingly, taking another step.

“I’m a freak,” Oliver said before he could stop himself. The self-loathing in his tone surprised even him. “It’s weird, okay? I don’t - I don’t want to think about it.”

“Okay,” Desmond said agreeably. His voice was still lower than usual, rasping a little over the consonants. He hesitated, chewing on his bottom lip. Oliver observed this; Desmond had always been ridiculously transparent, guileless and devoid of manipulation. He clearly wanted to ask something and was too afraid.

“What is it?” Oliver said.

Desmond peeked at him through his lashes, a blush dusting his cheeks. “Can I see it again? I mean...I’ve never seen one. Not in real life.”

That’s right, Oliver thought. His little brother was a virgin. A surge of pity mixed with shame swept through him. The first pussy his brother had ever seen, and it belonged to a family member. Oliver felt disgusting.

“That’s not a good idea,” he said, shaking his head, but Desmond hit him with a pleading look and he felt his resolve crumble.

“Please?”

Oliver hesitated. Desmond, sensing his advantage, pressed on. “Just a quick look,” he said. “So it doesn’t come as a surprise when I do meet a girl I like.”

He was going to regret this. “Fine,” Oliver said shortly. “Just...a peek.”

Desmond beamed, a look of pure boyish delight crossing his face. Oliver felt even more like an ancient pervert. His brother dropped to his knees, startling him.

“Just raise your leg,” Desmond prompted him. “You can rest it on my shoulder if you get tired. Lift your cock out of the way. It’s just a good angle, big brother, don’t overthink it.”

A little helplessly, Oliver obeyed. Desmond caught him by the ankle and pulled his leg up high, careful not to overbalance him, and Oliver was left exposed to his brother’s eyes. He kept his gaze straight ahead. Something about the situation felt weird, like it had gotten away from him. Then he rebuked himself - nothing about this was normal.

“Wow,” Desmond said. His breath was coming out faster. “Nice cunt.”

Oliver jerked at that, but Desmond’s fingers were tight around his leg, keeping him from falling. He glanced down and saw that Desmond was staring at his body with a weird intensity. He wasn’t smiling; and he didn’t look particularly young and innocent either. Less like Oliver’s baby brother, and more like an adult man.

“You don’t even have balls,” Desmond observed. “Do you think you can get a girl pregnant?”

“...I don’t know,” Oliver mumbled. “I hadn’t thought about it.”

Horrifically, he felt his cock beginning to stir. His pussy gave an excited twitch, slick starting to gather. Even his asshole seemed to itch, somewhere deep inside.

Was he getting turned on by this? By his brother looking at him? What the fuck was wrong with him? Was his body really this disgusting?

“Desmond,” he began.

“Can I touch?” Desmond interrupted. He didn’t wait for an answer, reaching out with his free hand.

“That’s _enough!”_ Oliver said, injecting as much force as he could into his voice. He ripped his leg free, overbalanced, and fell on his back, legs falling open. Desmond looked down at him, taking in the half-hard cock that lay exposed against his belly, and for a second Oliver didn’t recognize him.

The moment passed. Desmond backed off.

“Sorry,” he said. “I got a little carried away.” He laughed sheepishly.

“You need a girlfriend,” Oliver told him bluntly. “I’m getting dressed. I’ll meet you downstairs for dinner.”

By the time he’d made his way down, Desmond was gone. Oliver ate alone, grateful that he didn’t have to face his brother. He hadn’t liked the way Desmond looked at him, nor the tone of his voice, and couldn’t quite convince himself that it had been in his imagination...and, in some strange way, he’d liked it a lot. Desmond’s hand would be rough with calluses; what would they feel like rubbing inside him?

Oliver forced himself to think about something else. 

Desmond hadn’t returned by the time Oliver went to bed. They shared the bed, a throwback to childhood, Desmond slinging a casual, proprietary arm over his waist as they slept. It was like sleeping with an octopus; Oliver had woken up more than once to Desmond pinching his nipples in his sleep, digging his fingernails into the tip while Oliver fought the urge to moan, and on one notable occasion, Desmond had started rubbing his erection on him, grabbing handfuls of his ass and pulling them back to grind his dick against Oliver’s hole. Oliver had kicked him awake for that one and, blushing, Desmond had apologized.

Stuff like that was inevitable when you were so close. Accidents happened. Right now, though, Oliver didn’t trust himself not to hump Desmond in his sleep. The thought made him feel vaguely sick, almost nauseous with guilt. He hadn’t blamed Desmond for molesting him, knowing his brother had to feel the way he felt now.

Keeping a careful eye on the door, he reached down and began to stroke his cock. If he got off at least once before bed, maybe his body would calm down.

Masturbation was a mechanical, slightly joyless affair. He wiped his come off on a rag, blushing. He never had found another pair of underwear and the crotch of his pants was slightly damp with his own slick. In the morning he was definitely going shopping.

He woke up alone. When he went downstairs, he discovered his brother had left a note for him. _I’m sorry about last night. I think we need some space. I’m going to do some solo adventuring. I’ll be back at the end of the month. Desmond._

It was the first time they’d been apart for so long. Oliver read it and tried not to feel rejected.

By the time the end of the month rolled around, Oliver was so lonely he could hardly stand it. He’d never had sex, too scared someone might learn his secret. After a few weeks on his own, he’d found himself eyeing up the other patrons at the inn, just for the sake of having someone to talk to and touch. If it hadn’t been for Desmond, he probably never would have gone into adventuring, he reflected ruefully. He wasn’t really equipped to be alone for long stretches of time.

Desmond’s familiar profile, silhouetted by the sun, came as a relief.

“Desmond!” he called out, grinning.

Desmond turned, and for a moment Oliver thought his brother might still hate him -

But Desmond beamed and waved back. “Big bro,” he said as he stood up and enveloped him in a hug. One hand dropped to his lower back, right above the curve of his ass. The heat of it seemed to burn a hole through Oliver, who cleared his throat and took a step back. He was such a pervert, he berated himself.

Desmond studied him, brows drawing low. Then he looped an arm around Oliver’s shoulders and steered him towards the bar. “I heard of a dungeon that no one’s cleared yet,” he said. “It requires at least two people. Couple teams have tried, but no one’s emerged yet.”

“Sounds tough,” Oliver said, trying not to smile too giddily. It felt easy and good, to fall back into their usual dynamic. “I’m bored out of my skull here.”

Desmond smiled. His eyes had gone dark and full of anticipation. “Want to leave in the morning?”

*

The dungeon was a day’s ride away. They rented a couple horses whose tack featured homing signals that activated at the end of the allotted time, guiding the beasts home with or without their riders. Oliver ended up on the back of a horse slightly too big for him. He’d never been the best rider and tried not to bounce too uncomfortably on its back. He didn’t want to think about the way his body had started to heat up on Desmond’s return or the steady, persistent leak of slick out of his pussy, which felt hot and sensitive - but jolting around on the horse’s back, legs spread a bit too wide for comfort, made it impossible to ignore.

He felt Desmond’s gaze on his back and ignored it, ears turning red. If Desmond was so willing to forgive him, there was no way he was going to tell him why he was struggling. What was he going to say? Sorry your older brother’s getting turned on from riding a horse?

The dungeon, when they found it, had a pretty ordinary looking setup. A cave entrance, with a wooden sign out front that recorded how many groups had tried and failed. Oliver looked it over, eyebrows rising. No names he recognized, but there were a lot of them.

He added his and Desmond’s to the list. The final prize was 75000 experience points, enough for both brothers to level up, and a random drawing from the prize chest.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Born ready,” Desmond replied easily. He flashed a grin at Oliver, who returned it in kind.

Together, they entered.

*

It didn’t take long for Oliver to figure out why this dungeon had such a low clearance rate.

“What kind of pervert designed this place?” he demanded, cheeks flushing.

The first door was located in a room containing only a single lever. The lever was covered in ridges and ended in a bulbous tip. Just looking at it made Oliver feel embarrassed.

Neither brother could get the lever to budge. They paced the room, exploring it for clues, but nothing offered itself. It had taken several attempts before they deciphered the runes scratched into the door, which were nothing less than instructions for one person to strip naked and fuck themselves on the lever.

Desmond chewed his lip. “We can flip a coin,” he offered. He didn’t say what they both knew - dungeons were one way only. They could unlock the door, or they could hope that they didn’t starve to death before the next set of adventurers came through.

Oliver closed his eyes. “Are you serious?” he asked through gritted teeth.

Desmond shrugged. “It seems fair,” he said. “Someone’s gotta do it.”

Grimly, Oliver began to strip. First came the gloves, then he tackled the straps of his leather armor. The cold air made his nipples stiffen into peaks almost immediately. “There’s no way I’m letting you do this,” Oliver said. “I’m older, it should be me.”

“Oh no,” Desmond said. “Don’t sacrifice yourself, big brother.” His voice was...weird. Almost amused. Oliver shot him a look, but Desmond looked genuinely upset, tears starting to gather in his eyes. He dismissed it.

What Oliver didn’t say was, there was only one person in the room with a pussy. At least pussies were designed to have things inserted into them. They had no lubricant or oil to help ease the passageway. Not even any salves or creams, which had all been exchanged for bandages with healing magic woven into them. Desmond’s idea, as they were more efficient and powerful.

It had to be him.

He wasn’t exactly looking forward to it.

Desmond had returned to examining the doorway, evidently searching for a loophole. Oliver was grateful to have such a devoted little brother.

“Hmm,” said Desmond. “You’re not going to like this.”

Oliver froze. “...what is it?”

Desmond gave him an embarrassed look. “It’s an equal opportunity door,” he said. “Kind of makes sense, right? Can’t eliminate parties on the very first obstacle.” He gestured. “So...you’re going to have to use. You know.” He blushed. “Your other hole.”

Desmond was right. Oliver didn’t like it.

“I’m gonna break,” he said. Mutually, they turned to look at the lever. It was at least eight inches long. Oliver couldn’t even wrap his hand around it all the way. He swallowed, mouth dry with something that wasn’t entirely fear.

“Don’t worry,” Desmond said. “I have a plan.”

Desmond’s plan was simple in concept, but breathtaking in obscenity. Oliver wanted to cover his ears, or ask what Desmond had been up to in the month they’d been gone.

Oliver was going to masturbate. “I noticed you get wet a lot,” Desmond said, stuttering a little over the word _wet._ Oliver wanted to die. In a mumble, he added, “I saw you rubbing yourself on the saddle.” Then Oliver was going to take what Desmond unblushingly referred to as his _pussy juice,_ a phrase that made Oliver want to scrub his mouth out with soap, and smear it into his asshole and stretch and lubricate himself that way.

And that was how Oliver ended up on his knees, pushing a finger into himself for the first time in his life.

“Don’t look at me,” he protested, wincing.

Desmond blinked at him, all round-eyed innocence. “There’s nothing wrong,” he soothed. “Big brother is being really brave and cool.” Oliver’s cock had responded with alarming enthusiasm to the scenario and curved up against his belly, leaking precum from the tip. It was Desmond’s recommendation that he not touch himself there at all, and focus only on stimulating his pussy to produce slick.

Oliver obeyed. He pushed another finger up inside, trying not to sob at the stretch. The lever was several times thicker than his fingers and was going to go in his ass. How exactly was he going to do this? He dug around in himself, grinding his clit against the palm of his hand fruitlessly. It felt good, but he was nowhere near wet enough. 

Distantly, he heard Desmond sigh.

“Big bro, you really have no idea what you’re doing.”

Oliver avoided eye contact. “I don’t masturbate,” he mumbled. “I don’t - I don’t touch myself like this.”

Desmond stood up, brushing his knees off, and came closer. He squatted down, face inches from Oliver’s pussy. Oliver flinched. He could feel Desmond’s _breath_ on him. Wasn’t that too close?

“That’s obvious,” Desmond snorted. A mean look came over his face. “I guess it’s up to your little brother to make your pussy feel good.”

Oliver pulled his fingers free. They came out with a squelching sound, but he didn’t have time to feel humiliated. “That’s - Desmond, no,” he said. “You don’t have to do that.”

Desmond rolled his eyes. “I don’t want to be stuck here for hours while you finger yourself,” he said. “And I don’t really think you want to try and complete this dungeon with a bleeding ass.”

Oliver had never heard that tone of voice from him. It made him feel...strange. Small and ashamed, and intensely aware of the wetness that trickled down his thighs. Abruptly, he wanted to close his legs and tell Desmond to wait for the next group of adventurers to come and help them through.

Desmond put a hand on his inner thigh, holding him open.

“Relax,” he said, looking amused, and pushed his fingers in. He wasn’t gentle about it, shoving two fingers in and crooking them up in a single, practiced move. Oliver yelped in shock from the sudden intrusion, thighs clamping shut around the invading hand.

He’d been right about the sword calluses, he thought dizzily. Desmond’s hands were rough, rubbing over the private flesh without care. Oliver tried to squirm away, unable to stop the whimpers that rose up. Desmond caught him and pulled him back, pushed his legs open again. Desmond was so much stronger than him, Oliver realized with a mixture of terror and ashamed lust. It was so easy for Desmond to hold him down and fuck him open on his fingers.

Desmond pushed a third finger in. “I don’t feel a hymen in there,” he said. “Big bro, you been slutting it around? Thought you were a virgin.”

Oliver covered his face. It was the only way to detach himself. “Probably all the riding,” he whispered.

“That’s true,” Desmond agreed. With his other hand, he began rubbing at Oliver’s asshole, smearing the slick around the tight pucker. “Is that why you’ve always been pretty shit on horseback? Too busy rubbing your fat cunt on the saddle?”

“No,” Oliver said, but the word was cut off as Desmond began working his thumb inside his asshole. “Please, Desmond, this is - this is too much.” He’d never even thought about playing with his ass before; having his brother finger both open simultaneously made him feel strung out on nerves.

“How else are we going to get through this?” Desmond asked practically. “Calm down, big brother. You’re acting like you’re being raped.” He snorted and scissored his fingers apart. “Hey, look. Well, I guess you can’t. Anyway, I can see right up inside your cunt when I do this.” He pulled out and gave the head of Oliver’s cock a light slap.

It was too much. Oliver came, come hitting him in the face. His asshole, still speared on Desmond’s fingers, convulsed wildly around the digits, making them feel even bigger.

Desmond regarded him with surprise, eyebrows raised. “You’re pretty easy, huh.” He grinned. “Solves that problem for you though.”

Before Oliver could ask what he meant, Desmond dipped his fingers in the come, dragging them through the mess on his face and chest, then brought them down to his asshole and began fucking him again. He hooked his fingers in the puffy rim and pulled it apart slightly, while Oliver squealed and thrashed. Then added a third finger and stabbed back in, rooting around as Oliver moaned. Every time Desmond hit a certain spot inside him, it was like lightning shot down his spine, connected straight to his cock which had already begun to rise.

Was this really his brother? Oliver had never heard him talk like this. How did Desmond even know about all this?

“You made such a mess,” Desmond complained. “Kind of looks like you pissed yourself down here. Let’s clean it up, okay, big brother?”

“Don’t call me that,” Oliver begged. He couldn’t take it - being called big brother by someone knuckle deep in his ass.

“Why not?” Desmond said, sounding puzzled. “That’s what you are, right? You’re my big brother.” He twisted his fingers, punched back in straight at that same spot. Oliver screamed; his pussy squeezed around nothing.

Desmond pulled away, and for a moment Oliver didn’t know what was happening. He blinked tears away, staring at the ceiling and trying to suck in air. His chest heaved.

Desmond picked him up and positioned him over the lever. The tip brushed against his hole, cool and enormous.

“Wait,” Oliver said desperately. Now that it had come time to perform, he was suddenly afraid. “Wait, Desmond, it’s - it’s too big, it won’t fit. You have to stretch me more. Please, Desmond, I can’t, I can’t. I’m a virgin, I can’t take it. Finger me more, _please!”_

Desmond regarded him. Then said something that made no sense to Oliver, not at the moment.

“You shouldn’t have said no to me,” he said, and pushed Oliver down.

Oliver’s mouth fell open in a wordless, soundless scream. He felt like his entire world had just narrowed down to what was happening between his legs, the burning stretch of the lever entering his body, rearranging his insides. The ridges and bumps decorating it caught at his rim, pushed and bullied his insides mercilessly and brought more tears to his eyes.

It hurt. For a single second he held suspended at the center of more pain than he’d ever experienced in his life -

Then something was coming out of the lever, a warm liquid that soothed his hole and helped him glide the rest of the way down. It made his entrance tingle and he swiveled his hips, trying to scratch that itch from the inside, and groaned at the way the lever seemed to shift -

The lever started to pump, fucking him up and down. It...it was _moving_ inside of him, twisting around like a serpent and stretching him out, and with every undulation it ground over his prostate and dragged a scream out of him.

The door to the next room opened, but he didn’t notice.

Desmond crouched down by his face. “Why don’t you play with your tits?” he suggested, voice mild. “I bet you’ll feel even better when you do.”

Oliver raised his hands up and began to do just that. Desmond was right; every time he pulled on his nipples, a spark of pleasure burst out from his hole, like there was some sort of connection between them. For the first time he noticed that Desmond had an erection tenting the front of his pants. How selfish, he thought dizzily. Desmond had made him feel so good and asked for nothing in return. What kind of older brother didn’t take care of his sibling?

He bent forward and nosed at Desmond’s cock.

“That’s right,” Desmond said, sounding pleased. A hand pet his hair. The other went to unbuckle the front and draw out his penis. He slapped Oliver with it lightly on the face, leaving a streak of precum smeared across his lip. Oliver blinked up at him, then opened his mouth.

Desmond shoved in. The hand in his hair tightened, guiding him up and down the length. It wasn’t that different from being fucked on the lever, Oliver thought distantly. He was just a couple of holes. The salty, clean scent of his brother filled his nose, the head of his baby brother’s cock hitting the back of his throat with every thrust. Wasn’t there supposed to be a gag reflex? If there was, it didn’t seem to be kicking in.

Desmond hadn’t said to stop, so he kept playing with his tits. They were so sensitive by now that he didn’t dare be too aggressive. His hips shook from the force of the pounding.

“All it took was a little push,” Desmond was saying, “and you just turned into a whore. Always knew you had it in you. I should have fucked you _years_ ago, big brother. Think about it. How much fun would that have been?”

Desmond didn’t seem too interested in his answer, but just in case he was, Oliver nodded around his cock.

Desmond groaned. He wrenched Oliver off, then came all over his face, come splattering over his eyelids and cheeks. Oliver opened his mouth to catch some, licking his lips.

Desmond looked at him, grin tugging at his mouth. Went around to the other side where the lever was still pistoning in and out of Oliver’s hole, and squatted down to take a closer look.

“Your cunt’s drooling all over the place,” he commented. “Think it’s hungry?”

“Yes,” Oliver sobbed out. Would Desmond finger him again? He wanted it so, so badly. His pussy had been left empty most of his life. For the first time, that struck him as wrong.

“Too bad,” Desmond said. He dipped his finger in and gave it a twirl, then pulled it out and held it up to Oliver’s mouth. “How’s it taste?”

Oliver sucked on it. “Good,” he said around it.

Desmond was laughing at him. That made Oliver happy; he liked it when his brother was smiling.

Desmond walked away, entering the next room. There was a loud grinding noise and the lever began to pump in and out faster. Oliver came around it, legs kicking out, his cock spraying his own come to mix with the mess already on his face and chest. He couldn’t get up - no matter how hard he tried, his hole kept sucking on the lever - and moaned, overstimulation blending pleasure into pain.

Liquid sprayed out of the tip of the lever, coating his insides. Hot and thick, it filled him up until his belly bulged and he fell forward, groaning weakly. His vision was swimming. Gratefully, he allowed himself to slip into unconsciousness, dimly aware that Desmond had returned and pulled him free.

*

When he woke up, he was on his hands and knees, arms strapped to his sides. He was tied to an altar mounted to the floor, chest thrust forward into the two openings on top. His feet didn’t touch the ground, leaving him to dangle over the edge helplessly.

There was something in the box, he realized with horror. It felt like...tongues, licking and biting at his nipples. Hundreds of them. A strange pressure in his chest was building up.

He was hard. He wiggled his hips, trying to rub his cock against the surface, but it produced a strangely dissatisfying friction. He bit back a whimper, and tried to ignore the way his exposed holes twitched.

“Oh hey,” Desmond said, walking up. He patted Oliver’s butt as a greeting. “Nice to see you up and awake.”

“Wha - what’s going on?” Oliver slurred.

“I figured out the second key,” Desmond said cheerfully. “All you gotta do is lie there until you come from having your tits played with.” A finger slipped into him. Oliver pushed back reflexively, trying to encourage it to fuck him deeper. "I'm sure there won't be _any_ side effects."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver gets fucked some more, has his first kiss, and gains a pair of tits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for gratuitous use of the word asspussy lol
> 
> tags updated

Oliver was weeping. “No more,” he said. “Desmond, please, no - no - _stop!”_

Desmond pulled his fingers free of Oliver’s body with a wet ‘pop.’ He sighed, frustration clear in his voice, and said, “For the last time, big brother, this is for your own good.” He delivered a light slap to the crease where Oliver’s ass curved to his thigh. Oliver moaned, trying to move away, and only succeeded in swaying his hips. After the third orgasm, he had tried to close his legs and push his brother away. Desmond responded by tying his legs apart on the altar, strapping him in place and dragging him back so that his ass and pussy hung over the edge. His cock dangled in the empty air, unable to make contact.

“This hole is dirty,” Desmond said. He sounded _amused,_ Oliver thought, but when Desmond spoke again there was no trace of laughter. Just exasperation, like Oliver was misbehaving. “I’m trying to clean it out, who knows what is sloshing around inside you right now. Are you telling me you want to just walk around with some sort of weird potion slopping out of your hole? Leaking down your leg all day?”

Oliver stilled. In the box, something wrapped around both nipples and gave them a fierce tug, and he gave a shrill scream, back arching as he fought to get away.

Why wasn’t it working? Desmond had been very clear. Oliver just had to come from having his tits played with. And he had - three times, his cock producing nothing but a thin, watery fluid. Desmond had dipped his fingers in it, examining it closely, and then fucked his fingers into Oliver’s mouth, rubbing his tongue and shoving them down his throat.

Desmond slapped him. This time it was right on his hole. Oliver keened, tears springing to his eyes, the oversensitive nerves sending sparks skittering down his spine. It should hurt - it did - but in a way that rebounded somewhere inside him, went all the way around back into a warped pleasure. He’d never felt like this before. Never even known his body could produce these types of sensations, betraying his mind so readily and submitting to his younger brother.

“If you keep saying no,” Desmond said mildly, “I’ll do that again, and a lot harder.”

Oliver shuddered. His head dropped down, forehead pressing into the stone altar. He heard Desmond kneel, feel his breath blow on the red, weeping entrance into his body, and then Desmond’s hands gripped his cheeks, thumbs pressing against the rim.

For a moment, nothing happened. Oliver tried not to arch back or rock forward. He had no idea where he wanted to go, but being tied in place, tits sucked on by some hidden creature while his hole was tormented and his pussy went ignored, was driving him insane.

Desmond’s voice was thoughtful. “Oliver,” he said. “Have you ever kissed anyone?”

Oliver panted, trying to focus on the question. Something in the box was kneading his tits, grabbing the muscles around his nipples and dragging lazy circles around the areola, never quite touching where he wanted it to. He wanted to hump his chest against it as badly as he wanted to pull away and forget what was happening. The pressure in his chest made it hard to breathe.

“N...no,” he managed to get out.

Desmond patted his ass, full of sympathy. “I’ll fix that for you,” he said, and a moment later Oliver felt something warm and wet lapping at his entrance. His mind went blank, and then his brother’s tongue thrust its way inside, slippery and hot, twisting in his ass and sucking all the leftover slick out of him. Oliver screamed, thrusting his hips up into his brother’s mouth the best he could, but was brought up short by the straps; in the end he remained where he was, trying to buck his hips back and fuck himself, but ultimately helpless to do anything but accept the invasion.

Desmond was smiling. Oliver could feel the movement of his mouth. His hole gushed out slick with every clench of his muscles. The lever had done something to him, he realized with a jolt of shame. When Desmond had fingered him, he’d had to find his prostate to drive him wild; now it felt like anything that entered his body, no matter the size or shape, produced a similar effect. Was this going to be _permanent?_

He moaned. It turned into a wail partway through as Desmond worried his rim gently in his teeth, nibbling at him as Oliver pleaded with him to be gentler.

“Did you like your first kiss?” Desmond asked, laughter clear in his voice. “Looks like it made you horny.” He took a step back, head tilted as he eyed his handiwork critically. “That lever really did a number on you. This doesn’t even look like an asshole anymore, big brother. More like…” He paused. “A pussy.” He slapped it hard in derision, fingers curling into it. Oliver jolted against his bonds and, to his own shock, came. His orgasm had come out of nowhere, punching him deep in the base of his spine. His cock hadn’t even been hard that time; it was just his hole, overwhelmed at the stimulation, pulsing around nothing and trying to close itself.

“It hurts,” he sobbed out, trying to close his legs. All he accomplished was to wink his hole at his brother, who laughed. “No more, please, let me go, Desmond, don’t -”

Desmond hit him. This time it was on his pussy, the lips red and swollen with need. Oliver’s eyes rolled up in his head, unable to decide if he hated it or not.

“Shut up,” Desmond said. “I _told_ you, big brother.”

Whatever was in the box gave his tits a hard squeeze as if to emphasize his brother’s words. It felt odd, like his chest was heavier than it had been. He didn’t know how the tentacle-tongue was wrapping around each tit so much.

Desmond hit him three more times, alternating between his hole and pussy. Whatever was in the box slapped his tits in unison. Oliver began to cry. His pussy seemed to decide it liked the rough treatment and drooled eagerly, adding to his ongoing humiliation. Wetness streaked his thighs and puddled beneath him as evidence of his slutty body. Desmond hadn’t touched his pussy once since he’d been fucked on the lever, except to punish him.

“As I was saying,” Desmond said. “I don’t think this is an ordinary asshole anymore. It’s getting wet, just like your cunt. Stretches like your cunt too.” He paused, deliberating, then said, “You have a cunt and an asspussy.”

“Don’t _say_ that,” Oliver managed to say. “That’s...that’s so…”

“We could call it a fuckhole,” Desmond suggested. “You choose, big bro. It’s your body.”

Something about that statement seemed wrong, but when Oliver tried to parse it, he felt something pierce the tip of his nipples. It didn’t hurt, but it drew out a sob of terror and arousal. The last thing he cared about was what Desmond was saying.

“Asspussy,” he choked out. “It’s an asspussy.”

“Good job,” Desmond praised. He drew a finger down Oliver’s slit, parting the lips there to gather the moisture leaking out. Oliver whined high in his throat, shuddering. “Aww, big bro. Sorry, I forgot. You don’t want me touching you there.”

Oliver had no idea what he was talking about. He shook his head frantically. Desmond didn’t move though, so he summoned up his courage and whispered, “I - I liked it - I liked it when you put your fingers in me there...”

“Cute,” Desmond said. “But I’m tired.” He yawned. As if by accident, he brought the clothed tip of his erection against Oliver’s slit, rubbing the rough fabric against the delicate flesh there. Oliver squealed and clamped down, or tried to.

Desmond walked away. Oliver called for him to come back, raising his hips up and down helplessly. All he managed to do was swing his limp cock around in circles, startling a laugh out of his younger brother. Frustrated tears filled his eyes as he began to babble. Desmond ignored him.

Something broke. Oliver felt like he was going to die, desperate for cock, tits tugged right off his chest while his brother took a nap nearby. The next adventurers party was going to find his body and see what an absolutely useless whore he was, incapable of even getting the cock he wanted. Faced with such an ending, did his pride really matter?

“Little brother, please fuck my cunt!”

Desmond stopped. A satisfied grin spread over his face. He came back, unbuckling his pants with one hand. Oliver nearly cried in relief at the sight. His little brother was so good to him.

Desmond dragged his cock along his slit, wetting it with Oliver’s slick. No matter how much Oliver begged, he wouldn’t push in.

Why would he? They were brothers. Desmond had never struggled with the illicit thoughts in Oliver’s head, never lusted for his brother. He was a virgin, for god’s sake; that his first sexual experience would involve his own family member would traumatize the kid for life. His older brother was tied up like a pig, squealing and coming with his messy holes on display. His behavior had been strange ever since they’d entered the room, but Oliver thought he knew why. He should have protected Desmond.

“It’s...it’s okay,” he said. “Desmond, don’t blame yourself. This dungeon is doing something to us. It’s getting in our heads. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s...it’s normal. I won’t hold any of it against you. Just focus on getting out and we’ll deal with everything later..”

Desmond was silent for a long time, the tip of his cock pressed up against Oliver’s pussy, stirring up the juices that flowed out there. At last he sighed.

“That makes me feel so much better,” he said. His voice was tight as if holding back laughter, but that didn’t make sense. “Big brother, you’re right. This dungeon is definitely messing with me.”

Then in one smooth stroke, he shoved in.

Oliver clenched tight around him, toes curling, mouth falling open. Desmond was _huge._ He’d swallowed his dick only a few hours ago, but it was another thing entirely to feel his body being forced to open up around it. He was so aroused that it didn’t hurt, Desmond sliding into him with almost embarrassing ease. His brother set a punishing rhythm, chasing his own pleasure and slamming into Oliver’s body.

“How does it feel,” Desmond panted into his ears, “to be such a slut that you lose your pussy virginity to your brother?”

Oliver closed his eyes, humiliation burning a bright streak across his cheeks. He turned his head as if he could block the words out. Every time Desmond pushed in, he felt something in him give way, making him want to thrust his hips out to meet him and arch his back; every time Desmond pulled out, Oliver wanted to chase his cock back, squeezing as tight as he could around his little brother to hold onto him. Pleasure zipped beneath his skin, cresting and falling in little waves with every thrust. His nipples were being flicked back and forth rapidly, pinched and pulled, and for a second Oliver thought it was Desmond playing with him.

“Answer me!” Desmond began spanking him. Not his hole, which could hardly take the rough treatment, but the areas just above and around it. Oliver squealed in fear. Was this really his little brother? Gentle, funny Desmond, drilling his cock into him and slapping him around?

The dungeon was doing something terrible to them both.

Oliver had to get them out. Whatever it took.

“It feels good,” he wailed in response. “Big brother’s cunt loves it!”

Desmond growled, a low snarl in his throat. “How about big brother’s asspussy?” he demanded. “Big brother’s asspussy is drooling all over my cock. Does it want a taste too?” Without waiting, he thrust his fingers in and began fingerfucking Oliver, whose cock had painfully begun to rejoin the conversation and swell up. Fully erect, the tip just barely hit the edge of the altar, sending a little shiver of pain and arousal up the length with every thrust of Desmond’s cock. Desmond reached around and began to tweak and rub his clit, and Oliver came with an aborted scream. He went boneless in his restraints, cheek resting on the rough stone altar, and only slurred out monosyllabic responses to his little brother’s inquiries.

“Next time I want your cunt, what are you going to say?”

“...yes…”

“And what about your tits?”

“...please touch them…”

Desmond came with a grunt. The sensation of hot semen pouring inside him made Oliver moan weakly, but he remained limp on the altar as his brother pulled free. Immediately, come started to drip out of him and onto the floor, making small splashing noises as it joined the rest in the puddle below.

Desmond glanced at the locked door to the third room. He studied the runes, then laughed.

“Oliver, you’ll never believe it,” he said. “I got the translation wrong. Don’t be mad, okay? If anything else makes you come while you’re having your tits played with, it doesn’t count.”

Oliver lifted his head. “...what…?”

Desmond came around to the front, his cock in one hand, and tapped Oliver’s mouth with the head. “Hey, can you clean me up?” He smiled down at Oliver, eyes bright. “Your cunt’s pretty messy, you got me all dirty.”

Oliver opened his mouth to lick at his shaft, cleaning the remains of slick and come off his brother’s cock. Numbness spread through him at his words. The past few hours...didn’t count?

Desmond looked him over critically. “You’re looking pretty fucked out,” he said, “so it might take some time for you to go again. I’ve got faith in you though. You’re gonna get us out of here.”

*

It took another hour before the door unlocked itself. Oliver remained prone on the altar, his world narrowed down to what was happening in this box. Without the distraction of Desmond playing with his holes, he was growing increasingly afraid of what he’d find when he was free.

Occasionally, Desmond circled around to look at his pussies and comment. “You must be really enjoying whatever it’s doing to your tits,” he said. “Your asspussy’s really squeezing!”

“You’ve made a huge mess, your cunt’s soaked. I bet I could slide my whole arm up in there right now and you wouldn’t feel a thing.”

“Want to know something funny? After all that spanking and coming, your asspussy’s still hanging open. You think it’ll ever go back to normal? My bet’s no.”

When the straps holding him in place finally vanished, Oliver didn’t move, barely conscious. That last orgasm had been work, forcing him to chase it down and ride its wave, rub his sore nipples against the tongues in the box and try to encourage it for more. Whatever was in there had responded with enthusiasm and been particularly rough, slapping and squeezing his tits in a way he hadn’t known he liked.

Desmond untied his legs and rolled him over. He grinned down at him, eyes soft and warm, and flicked the puffy red nipple sitting on the white, pillowy breast.

“Nice tits,” he said. “They new?”

*

Desmond kept apologizing. As soon as he’d carried Oliver into the second room, the door had shut and locked itself, leaving all of Oliver’s clothes, weapons, and tools on the other side.

Oliver, arms crossed over his chest to try and shield his new breasts from view, was not interested in hearing his explanations. He didn’t want to enter the third room naked and defenseless, not when they had no idea what they might have to face ahead, and especially not when Desmond had said, face dusted with pink, that his ass jiggled when he walked.

“And your asspussy is visible too,” he added. “It’s all open and red and leaky.” He sounded like he was 8 and talking about cooties. Oliver winced and felt shame curdling in his gut.

“Don’t call it that,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction.

Desmond gazed at him, eyes full of limpid innocence. “But you told me to,” he said. “I asked you what you wanted me to call your hole, and you’re the one that said _asspussy.”_

Oliver gave up. Desmond was right.

Desmond caught his wrists and pulled them away from his chest, leaving his new breasts exposed. “Don’t be embarrassed,” he said gently. “You’re a man, aren’t you? You don’t need to hide them.”

“Do these look like they belong to a man?” Oliver couldn’t break free of Desmond’s grip and resorted for thrusting his chest into his brother’s view.

“You’ve always had big tits,” Desmond said, a shit-eating grin spreading over his face. Oliver glared and headbutted him, and the two of them play-wrestled like they were home and blowing off steam. It ended the way it used to, with Oliver trapped on his back and Desmond’s fingers pulling on his tits, tugging them in opposite directions as he smirked. Only this time, there was no hiding Oliver’s reaction, his cock jumping against Desmond’s thigh. When he scrambled away, there was a small damp patch where he’d been sitting.

Desmond was a good brother who didn’t mention it, though he looked at the damp patch a few times with an odd smile.

The whole exchange made Oliver feel better. Desmond was right. Tits or no, he was a man. What did he have to be embarrassed of?

The only problem was that Oliver’s tits hadn’t gotten the message. Hyper sensitive from being played with for hours, they stiffened up as soon as Desmond so much as looked in his direction. If he tried to move at more than a fast walk, they started bouncing, drawing a pained moan from his mouth.

The third room had something new. A prize chest, spawning random rewards.

“You should open it,” Desmond said. “You’ve done all the work.”

Oliver agreed. He approached the chest and pried the lid off, and discovered it contained armor.

His relief was short-lived. Like everything else in this dungeon, the armor had been designed by a pervert. Desmond talked him into wearing it, pointing out that he had only just been complaining about being naked, and showed him the stat increases that came with the armor.

“It’s really not bad,” Desmond said. “Level 7 at least.”

The major flaw of the armor, aside from how skimpy it was, was that it had to be worn as a complete set. No item could be left off or the entire thing became nothing more than a set of lingerie.

First, the cock ring. Desmond slid it over his cock, remarking idly that Oliver’s cock might be small enough to tuck away inside the armor. Oliver flushed, trying not to show Desmond that his words had hit a sore spot.

“It’s so cute,” Desmond crooned, flicking the tip with his finger. “Look at it!”

“Don’t _look,”_ Oliver complained, trying to hide it with his hand, but Desmond flashed him a hard look and the words faltered in his throat. In the end he said nothing, letting Desmond play with the slit as he pleased until Oliver was thrusting up into his touch futilely.

The cock ring sat around the base of his cock, preventing him from coming. Precum oozed out of the tip, smearing along his stomach.

“+15 endurance,” Desmond said, whistling. “That’s always been your weak spot.”

Next was a tiny metal ring, spelled to be unbreakable. Desmond rubbed at his clit until it peeked out hard and proud, laughing when Oliver’s hips thrust up towards his face. Oliver bit his fist trying to keep quiet. He slipped it around Oliver’s clit, preventing it from retreating. The ring shrank. “Another +15 endurance,” he said cheerfully and playfully pinched Oliver’s clit when he was done. He leaned forward and sucked it into his mouth, laving it with his tongue while Oliver thrashed and shouted.

Next came what Desmond referred to as his _panties,_ no matter how much Oliver begged him to refer to them as something else. “That’s what they look like,” he said, laughing. As flimsy as they looked, the armor rating on them was an impressive 30 points, leaving Oliver protected from most physical attacks, so Desmond overruled his objections and made him wear them. A thin scrap of fabric, his cock tenting the front obscenely until Desmond rearranged it so that the band trapped his cock against his belly. There wasn’t even enough material to do that fully, so the tip of Oliver’s cock peeked out over the top. His exposed clit rubbed against the fabric, the small bump visible through the silky, clinging panties. There wasn’t even enough to fully cover himself with; the front led to a thin line of lace, the string cutting through his slit and rubbing his swollen hole as he walked.

In many ways, it was worse than being naked. Oliver shivered and tried to take a step forward. After he’d put the armor on, a wall had opened up to reveal a new passageway, and so they walked. Every step he took, his new armor pressed and tugged on his clit and asspussy, sending shockwaves up his body.

Behind him, Desmond snickered.

“You’re dripping,” he informed him. Oliver turned and looked down. True to Desmond’s words, drops of slick dotted the ground. He flushed but couldn’t think of a response.

The third room was a labyrinth, full of twisting passageways that led to empty caverns. No matter how far they walked, they didn’t encounter any living creatures. That was all for the better, because Oliver was in no condition to fight. Both holes between his legs throbbed, aching and overstimulated, tormented by the simple act of walking.

At last, Oliver begged for a break for the night. It hurt his pride to have to plead weakness to his younger brother, but his legs were trembling and he couldn’t take another step. Desmond was unmoved, pointing out that they had to complete the dungeon as quickly as possible, until Oliver reminded him that he’d been a virgin only that morning.

Desmond rolled his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic,” he said. “You’ve only had two cocks today, one real and one fake. If you were a whore in a brothel, you’d have sat on more before breakfast.”

Oliver had stared, appalled at the vulgarity falling from his brother’s mouth.

Desmond saw his face. His expression cleared, replaced by shame. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t...big brother, that was so _mean_ of me.” He held his head in his hands and Oliver’s heart softened.

“Don’t apologize, Desmond,” he said. “I told you before, this dungeon is in our heads somehow.”

Desmond nodded. “I’ll try harder to be strong,” he said, his eyes drifting down to the slick gathering on the floor where Oliver stood, “like you.” Oliver squeezed his thighs together and didn’t reply to that.

Desmond still didn’t want to stop though. Oliver had a whopping 30 points of endurance added to his usual stats. He should be able to go all night without feeling tired. Endurance affected hunger and thirst as well; with 30 points, Oliver could go for a week without eating or drinking.

On and on they went back and forth, Desmond demanding to know why Oliver wanted to stop, Oliver too embarrassed to tell him the truth but unable to fathom the idea of continuing on. Heat sizzled in his entire body; he had the vague fear that if he kept walking, he’d end up coming from his new armor in front of his brother, and he thought he would rather die than do that.

“I just don’t understand,” Desmond said, frustrated. “It’s like you don’t even want to leave this place.”

What pride did he have left as an older brother? Oliver had lost his virginity twice that day, once to his younger brother’s cock and once to a perverted locking mechanism. Shaking, Oliver told him the truth, and Desmond demanded proof.

Which was how Oliver ended up bending over, spreading his cheeks apart for his brother’s perusal. His breasts dangled, the weight heavy and unfamiliar. He had no idea what he looked like down there, but he could feel how wet and loose he’d become. Knowing that Desmond could see made his stomach quiver, a burst of excitement that he couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge.

“H-how does it look?”

“How does what look?”

Oliver’s blush seemed to have become a permanent part of him. Was his brother playing dumb? He banished the thought. Desmond likely had no idea what he was talking about.

“My...hole…”

Silence.

Oliver continued, eyes glued to the ground so he didn’t have to look at Desmond’s face. “You said it looked...open…”

Desmond sighed. “I see two holes, big brother. Three, if you count the one you talk with. Just _kidding,”_ he added at Oliver’s hurt gasp. “You’re so sensitive. Which hole do you want to know about?”

Oliver had a hard time getting the words out, but Desmond was patient. “My...asspussy…” Could he straighten back up? Holding himself open like this for such a long time - presenting himself for Desmond’s inspection - was sending strange signals to his hindbrain. Some part of him interpreted the pose as a precursor to getting fucked, and on cue his body began to slick itself up in preparation. He hung his head, not daring to move without Desmond’s permission.

“Oh, that.” Desmond hummed to himself. “It’s still looking pretty slutty,” he said. “Your panties go right through the middle. It’s a good thing they’re so small, or your asspussy would have sucked it right inside.” His laugh had a mean edge to it. The dungeon, Oliver reminded himself. “And it’s so swollen that the rim is sticking out on each side. Being honest, big brother, your asspussy looks _wrecked._ If I didn’t know better, I’d say it belonged to a cheap whore.” He reached out and snapped the string right against Oliver’s hole, making him squeal and jump. Oliver lost his balance and lurched forward, catching himself on his hands and knees. He looked over his shoulder at Desmond.

“What the hell was that for?” he demanded.

Desmond looked surprised. “I’m just playing,” he said. “Don’t be such a baby. We can stop if you want,” he added generously. “If you want to rub your clit, we can take a break.”

That...hadn’t been what Oliver was saying, but it was better than nothing. The cavern they found themselves in had a raised, flat rock. Desmond told him to go sit down on it and enjoy himself.

Oliver had just wanted to stop walking for the night. He hesitated, then obeyed, walking over and spreading himself. The fabric of his poor excuse for armor was soaked through, sticking to his engorged clit and rubbing his cock almost painfully. He should have felt flayed open and sensitive, unable to tolerate any contact, but that wasn’t the case at all.

Being on a platform like this made him feel like he was...on stage. Performing a lewd show for his brother, who seemed to display no interest at all in looking at him. Which was only right, Oliver thought; Desmond was the normal one of the two. It took a magical dungeon to unearth his darker traits, and even those seemed to be limited to teasing him - which, he had to admit, Desmond was prone to doing anyway. Oliver was the slutty one, like fucking his hole open on a magical lock had released some hidden side of himself. Maybe that was why he’d always been scared to touch himself, sensing that on the inside there was a hungry cockslut waiting to be born.

He whined in the back of his throat and pressed his thumb into his clit, his fingers running up and down the length of his cock. His hole - he didn’t know which one, both of them felt useless and empty - spurted slick around his panties in response, preparing itself for a fuck that he wasn’t going to get, because the only other person here was his younger brother. He slid two fingers inside his cunt and wanted to sob at how easily they went in. His cunt sucked greedily at the digits, and he imagined it was Desmond’s cock, splitting him open. He added a third finger, stretching himself open, then whimpered when it didn’t feel like enough and thrust his thumb into his asspussy. His other hand began to massage and knead at his new breasts, plucking at the nipples and squeezing the soft flesh. Distantly he registered that his hand was wet, and licked his fingers to discover a sweet, milky liquid on them. It didn’t matter; he just wanted to come.

His orgasm, when it came, was perfunctory at best, more a testament to how easily his body could come than any true relief. His cock was still tied up and unable to do more than squeeze out a drop of precum, while his lonely holes just fluttered around his fingers, milking them for come that didn’t exist. He moaned, thrusting his fingers up into himself the best he could as his inner muscles squeezed around them. The sound of his wet cunt was ridiculously loud to his own ears, but Desmond seemed unable to hear it. He hadn’t looked up once, maybe wanting to give Oliver some privacy, but it fed the sense of rejection building up in him.

Desmond was such a good kid. He’d lost his virginity to his older brother’s cunt and not said a word about it, tolerated Oliver’s embarrassing body, teased him like they were on any regular adventure and it was an ordinary day. Oliver loved him so much it hurt, a sweet ache that spread inside him, warm and soothing.

His second orgasm was better, but still not good enough. Oliver humped his hand unhappily, afraid that the only thing that would make him come properly was a cock.

*

Desmond cut up the strips of jerky, offering some to Oliver, who shook his head.

“My endurance stats are high,” he said. “We need to save the food.”

That was the other problem - Oliver had been carrying most of their rations. They’d come across zero plantlife, wild animals, or demons in the dungeon so far, and had to assume that might hold true for the whole journey. With his new cock ring and clit ring boosting his stats, Oliver could go without food for a long time. Desmond’s endurance stat was good, but not that good; he’d put most of his level up skill points into strength.

Desmond nodded. He looked like he wanted to say something, but in the end remained silent. His expression turned thoughtful, a little contemplative; as Oliver watched, he seemed to be entertained by something. He wished he knew what was going on in Desmond’s head.

They extinguished the fire for safety, but that left the cavern freezing at night. They only had one bedroll left, so Desmond wrapped himself around Oliver for warmth. Oliver tried his best not to push his hips back against him.

“I’ll...I’ll make you dirty,” he mumbled. Every time his body was touched, no matter where, he got a little hornier. It was hard to think past the fog of lust.

Desmond patted his ass, then squeezed a breast playfully. Oliver tried not to do something like hump his thigh.

“I don’t mind,” Desmond said. His eyes danced. “If you’re really embarrassed, we can look for something to plug your holes up while you sleep.”

Oliver shook his head. That would be worse. Where did Desmond even get these kinds of ideas?

He closed his eyes. He hadn’t been lying - he really was exhausted, and sleep came easily to him.

When he woke up in the morning, it was to find come and slick leaking out of both holes, frothy and thick. Desmond had propped him up against the wall and was sucking at his tit while his right hand worked its way in and out of his asspussy, fingering him with loud squelching noises. The left hand squeezed at his other breast. Oliver’s eyes snapped open as his orgasm hit, legs spreading wider as he convulsed. His breasts felt _amazing,_ even when Desmond worried at his nipple with his teeth, the discomfort he’d felt in them the previous day draining with every suck.

“Good morning,” said Desmond. “Big bro, thanks for breakfast!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver discovers a new way to feed his brother, while Desmond continues to fuck and fuck with him.

Oliver’s body overflowed with heat. It coursed through his veins, his blood simmering beneath his skin, flushing his face. Anywhere Desmond touched, he drew the heat up to the surface, bringing it to a boiling point that made Oliver writhe and open himself up eagerly.

Desmond released him, one breast drained dry of milk. He whined weakly as Desmond slid into him, come forced out of his cunt as his brother’s cock invaded his body. He hadn’t bothered to take Oliver’s armor off, choosing to push the flimsy strap aside. Desmond bent down and attached his mouth to his other tit, lips sealing around the nipple and sucking hard. Oliver arched into it, squeezing his cunt as tight as he could and drawing some satisfaction from the way Desmond groaned and thrust harder. His other breast bounced in the air as he was dragged back and forth on the ground, the nipple red and glistening with saliva.

Strange desires flashed through his mind’s eye. Him and Desmond, free from the dungeon, tangled in bed together. Desmond spearing his cunt open as he mouthed at Oliver’s breasts, moving slow and sweet inside him, dragging his cock through the sensitive inner flesh. Not as brothers but as husband and wife, Oliver’s holes offered up in exchange for Desmond’s fidelity. They’d never been apart before Desmond vanished for a month - no matter where Oliver went, Desmond had always followed him, stubborn and clingy. That Desmond could so easily leave him behind…

Reason asserted itself. What was wrong with him? They couldn’t spend their lives together forever. Oliver had always been the one to encourage Desmond to talk to more people, while Desmond had blithely ignored him.

He had been so _lonely..._

Desmond’s fingers squeezed around his breast, pumping more milk out. He was grunting, occasionally mumbling praise for the taste of Oliver’s milk or the silk of his cunt. Every word hit low in Oliver’s gut, stoked the fire that was burning inside him.

He lost track of how many times he came, trying to milk his brother as his brother milked him. Desmond’s endurance was frustratingly high, driving his cock relentlessly into him. He pulled out before he came and Oliver keened, squirming as he tried to lock his brother inside, and Desmond flipped him onto his stomach and rammed his cock into his asspussy. This, Oliver realized distantly, was because his tits had both run dry, and now he had no purpose except to suck Desmond’s cock with his holes. His nipples, wet and oversensitive, scraped against the stone floor as he was fucked. With every drag of his breasts on the ground, Oliver’s hole betrayed its owner’s approval and bore down on the cock ecstatically. Desmond held his hips up high so that the only friction his cock and clit got came from the pull of his armor against him, showing no interest in getting him off this morning, but Oliver was anyway, moaning and coming around his brother’s cock over and over.

At last Desmond rewarded him. Come filled Oliver’s insides, adding to the heat that lay under his skin, never fully extinguished. Oliver wailed as it added to what already had been pumped into him, leaving him feeling bloated and distended.

Desmond pulled free. His thumb went to Oliver’s hole and stretched it out, then he shook his head. “Completely ruined,” he said. The words were cruel, but the tone was approving. He moved the strap of Oliver’s armor back over his hole so that the scratchy fabric would rub at it some more. For once he didn’t demand Oliver suck him clean, choosing instead to wipe his cock free of slick and come with a handful of Oliver’s long hair.

Oliver protested weakly at that, but Desmond ignored him and tucked himself back in his pants. He walked away, presumably to pack up their temporary camp, while Oliver lay face down on the ground with come spurting out of both holes.

Oliver pressed his hips against the ground, ashamed of how desperately he wanted to rub himself on the stone. It was pointless - no matter how many times his holes came, his cock and clit remained bound, keeping the rest of him slick and wanting, an easy receptacle for his brother’s cock. Knowing that didn’t make it any easier for him to control himself.

Desmond walked back over and nudged him, then rolled him over with his foot. Oliver’s stomach bulged from the cum packed into him during the night and that morning. Oliver saw that it had a faint curve outwards, as though he had indulged himself in a heavy meal.

A shadow moved across Desmond’s face as he gazed down at Oliver, who lowered his eyes, too humiliated to make eye contact. Everything he had thought while Desmond fucked him replayed in his mind. Without the haze of lust, he could only be grateful he hadn’t voiced them out loud and maintained that pathetic scrap of dignity.

“Get up,” Desmond said. “We need to get moving.”

Oliver bit back a whimper at the tone of his voice. Desmond sounded annoyed with him. He had never been comfortable with Desmond’s bad moods - when Desmond scowled, he looked less like Oliver’s familiar, easy-going kid brother, and more like their father. Oliver sat up, reaching between his legs to begin digging out the come.

Desmond huffed. “What are you doing?”

Oliver peeked up at him, red-faced. He didn’t want to explain, but Desmond sounded impatient, shading towards anger, so Oliver plucked up his courage and said, “I need to clean myself out or I’ll...drip…”

Desmond snorted. “You do that anyway,” he said. “What difference does that make?”

Yesterday, Oliver might have responded with any number of quick retorts. Or even told his brother to fuck off, fearless of the consequences. Now, his cunt and hole both throbbed, sore and aching from being used in his sleep, his tits weeping with spent milk. He flinched.

Desmond’s eyes saw the quick movement and darkened. His mouth tightened and he seemed to be working himself up towards true anger. He began pacing, prowling around Oliver in a circle as he complained.

“We had to walk slowly because you couldn’t stop whining about your cunt feeling good. We had to stop early because you wanted to rub your clit,” he said. “And now you want to delay setting out, so that you can play with your holes some more? After spending the whole night humping my leg like a bitch in heat? That’s right,” he added at Oliver’s horrified look. “All goddamn night I had to put up with you rubbing your cunt on my dick, trying to get me to stick it in. The only good thing that came out of it was your tits.” He gave an ugly laugh. “Guess we don’t need to worry about food anymore.”

Oliver licked his dry lips and offered up, “Desmond, I’m so sorry.”

Desmond’s eyes were cold. “Are you?” 

Oliver nodded frantically. Had he really done that? Been shameless enough to prostrate himself, begging in his sleep for his brother’s cock? He didn’t want to believe it, but he’d woken up to find his holes already open and filled. What was he supposed to think - that his baby brother had fucked him for his own pleasure in the night?

Desmond looked him over, eyes lingering on the come seeping out of him. “Then get up,” Desmond said shortly, “and start walking.” His nose wrinkled. “You need a bath.”

*

Desmond set a hard pace, wanting to make up for the time they had wasted attending to Oliver’s holes. When Oliver had struggled to keep up - a different flavor of embarrassment, as he had always been the faster of the two - Desmond had given him an annoyed look and told him what he thought of sluts that couldn’t focus on anything but filling their holes.

Oliver meekly apologized and thanked his younger brother for taking care of him.

Desmond brushed past him, slowing down only to slap his ass as he passed by. Oliver stumbled and caught himself, his breasts bouncing and swaying as he tottered. They didn’t hurt as badly as yesterday, his center of gravity shifting to accommodate the new weight, but one thing hadn’t changed: the faster he walked, the more they bounced.

It was humiliating. Desmond had said he was still a man. Men went shirtless all the time without thinking about it. Oliver, tits round and soft as they slowly refilled with milk, his holes fucked permanently open and dribbling leftover come with every step, did not feel like a man.

Desmond saw his problem and rolled his eyes. “Just hold them up,” he said. “Use your hands.”

Desmond’s solutions always felt worse than the problem, but they worked. Oliver held his breasts, unable to stop himself from giving them a squeeze, rolling the nipples against his palms curiously. His hips stuttered; his breathing grew ragged. Ahead, Desmond slowed but did not turn around.

Playing with his tits while his armor caught and pulled on his still tender holes was a new low. He made a tiny noise in the back of his throat as he pinched his nipple then twisted it gently. His other hand dug into the soft flesh, massaging his breast.

Desmond _liked_ his tits. What had he said…? _The only good thing that came out of it was your tits._ Desmond liked women, of course; and these tits undoubtedly belonged to a woman. Desmond could drink from them and keep himself alive that way as they slogged through the dungeon, so Oliver’s embarrassing body was good for more than just sitting on cocks.

He mewled, high in his throat, as arousal zinged through his body. The more he played with himself, the more heat seemed to gather, centering around his cunt and hole. They clenched and, unnoticed, more globs of come oozed out, sliding down his legs as he stumbled after his brother.

His orgasm knocked him off his feet, sent him onto all fours with his face pressed to the ground, hands still working at his breasts. It was so much _better_ than when he had to sit and uselessly finger his holes yesterday, cunt and asspussy squirting the last dregs of his brother’s come out in a messy display. 

When he opened his eyes, panting, it was to see his brother’s disdainful face looking down at him. 

Desmond said nothing. He didn’t have to. Oliver scrambled to his feet, head low, and walked ahead of his brother. His tits swung with every step but he didn’t dare touch them, not when he’d just demonstrated he had so little self control, and so he gritted his teeth and kept going. Desmond fell in step behind him, his disapproval a palpable thing. There were no teasing comments today about his ass jiggling or hole gaping; only Desmond’s contempt, scorching Oliver’s skin as they walked.

The passageway opened into another cavern at last. This one held a stream, bubbling up through the stone in a deeply carved groove, emptying into a pond. The water was clear and cold, so devoid of life that they could see through it to the bottom of the channel.

Desmond slung his pack down with a groan. “Fucking finally,” he said and began stripping. Oliver hovered, unsure of what to do, and Desmond sent him a scornful look. “Wait your turn.”

Before, Oliver would have joined Desmond in the water without a second thought, grateful at the chance to get clean. Now he sank to his knees obediently, hands curled up into fists, trying to block out the way his armor tugged on his clit and the string pulled up against his slit and hole. His cock was pulsing over the top, precum drooling from the tip nonstop. No wonder Desmond didn’t want to bathe with him. He was filthy.

Desmond rinsed himself clean, making a satisfied noise. “It’s cold,” he said as he rose out of the pond, droplets of water sliding along planes of his body. His cock, thick and dark, hung between his legs, bobbing with every step as he stalked past. Oliver could see the flex of muscle beneath smooth skin as he stalked past. He stared at his fingers, breath coming in quick, aroused gasps. He felt faintly sick, dismayed at the way lust sparked and grew beneath his skin. How long had he been hiding these feelings, even from himself?

Desmond yanked his pants back on, then jerked a thumb at the water. “Get in,” he ordered. Oliver scrabbled to his feet, unbuckling the ties that kept his armor on, then faltered.

“I...I need help…”

Desmond looked at his clit, forced out of the folds of his cunt, and at his cock, curved upwards. Both organs were swollen and red, obscene against Oliver’s pale skin. He sighed. “Just leave them on,” he said, sounding bored and annoyed. “I don’t feel like dealing with your cunt right now.”

Oliver went into the water, hissing as the cold water stung his overheated flesh. He was unsurprised to learn that some part of him liked that as well; no matter what it was, everything got rerouted into pleasure.

Desmond was ignoring him, occupied on getting dressed. That hurt. Even his contempt felt better than being ignored. Oliver was appalled to find that he was tearing up and forced himself to stop.

He cleaned himself out, wincing slightly. The water was ice cold, dousing his arousal. That made it easier to wash the slick out of him and off his legs, but the invasion of cold liquid into his body made him clench miserably. He washed his hair, trying to pick out the tangles of dried come. Why had Desmond _done_ that earlier? Oliver hadn’t thought he could feel anymore humiliated than before, but being used as a rag to mop up semen had nearly made him start crying. He put it in a braid, the better to keep it tidy and out of his way.

When he was done he came out of the water, shivering, but the dungeon was warm enough during the day that it didn’t take long for his body to stop. He knelt by the side and scrubbed his indecent armor clean. Like most magical armors, it repelled dirt and stains, but it had been pressed up against his slit and soaked in his juices for a day now.

He set the armor aside to dry. Desmond was seated on a rock and watching him, an impatient look in his eye, so Oliver walked over obediently.

Desmond smirked and tweaked his nipple. Oliver let out a soft cry.

“I think it’s lunchtime,” Desmond said pleasantly and slapped his tit. Oliver was cold enough that it hurt more than usual and he curled away, raising his voice in protest. Red bloomed across white skin. Desmond grabbed his arm as he tried to block access to his breast, and looked at him mournfully.

“Big brother, are you going to let me go hungry?”

Like most adventurers, Desmond was used to short rations. Oliver knew he was delivering a load of bullshit, but couldn’t bring himself to call his brother out on it.

“There’s jerky,” he said weakly.

Desmond gave him a disappointed look. “We need to ration our supplies,” he said, “seeing as how you forgot your pack in the first room.”

Oliver blinked. “Wha - that’s not what happened -”

Desmond slapped his tits again, driving the thought out of his head.

“Why would I eat jerky, when there’s a perfectly renewable food source right here?” Desmond asked. He grabbed Oliver’s tits and gave them a hard squeeze for emphasis. Oliver whined in the back of his throat.

Desmond guided Oliver down to straddle his knee, the rough fabric of his pants grinding up into Oliver’s cunt. Oliver rocked back and forth on his brother’s leg, moaning at the sensation of rough fabric shoving up inside him, coupled with the firm press of Desmond’s leg. Shame and arousal swirled together inside him; he felt himself starting to descend, sinking into the hazy fog of lust.

Desmond observed him, smiling. Oliver smiled back dazedly.

Desmond didn’t start sucking right away, though Oliver thrust his chest forward willingly. Instead he gathered Oliver’s breasts in each hand, pulling them apart, pressing them together, digging into the nipples with the pads of his thumbs and laughing as Oliver writhed on his knee.

Growing bored of the game eventually, he squished Oliver’s breasts together so that the nipples almost touched. Oliver whimpered, not sure if he liked the feeling, but Desmond didn’t give him time to make up his mind, bending down to take both nipples in his mouth at once and sucking. Simultaneously, his fingers began squeezing and pulling - milking, Oliver corrected himself through the fog. The press of teeth against his flesh - the sensation of his brother’s teeth and tongue on him - the steady flow of liquid being pulled out of him -

Oliver screamed and came. His back arched as he rode his cunt against his brother’s leg, shaking and sobbing. Desmond was relentless, ignoring him and focusing only on pulling more milk out of both breasts at once. 

And then suddenly, it was over.

Desmond pushed him away. Not expecting it, Oliver fell onto the ground with a thump. Desmond got up and stepped over him to go to his bag, which he opened to pull out an empty flask. It was usually Oliver’s job to carry the flasks and other accoutrements; his training as a healer meant he could analyze and store any helpful potions they came across.

Oliver’s brow furrowed. A thought drifted across his mind, but he shied away from it, unwilling to face it.

Desmond came back and raised his eyebrows, then reached down and pulled him to his feet. Without saying a word, he grabbed Oliver’s tit and began squeezing, fingers groping the firm flesh and yanking on the red nipple. Oliver squealed, holes twitching hopefully as milk dripped out of him and into the glass flask.

Desmond sat back down, still ignoring him. Oliver dropped to his knees, expectant - and then stopped, because Desmond wasn’t hard. It was just Oliver who was aroused.

Desmond sighed. “I don’t have time to fuck you right now.” He held the flask up, studying the white liquid as it sloshed around. “I want to take a good look at this while we have the time. It’s not ordinary milk.”

Oliver nodded, pressing his thighs together to try and calm himself down. It was futile; briefly extinguished by the cold bath, the heat in his body had returned with a vengeance.

Desmond glanced at him and saw the shiny wetness on his thighs. He sounded exasperated when he spoke. “Do you still need to come?”

“Yes,” Oliver whispered.

Desmond considered the issue, tilting his head. “I’m not getting you off,” he said at last. “Some of us aren’t such horny sluts that we can’t think about anything else. But,” he added generously, “I’ll take the cock ring off and you can use my foot.”

“Wh-what?”

“I’m not repeating myself,” Desmond said pleasantly. He reached over and undid the cock ring. Oliver groaned in a mixture of pain and relief. He hadn’t known he could get so hard, and as soon as the ring had come off, he’d gotten even harder. Beneath it, his tied up clit throbbed needily, hoping for similar release, but Desmond didn’t mention it.

“Get on the ground and spread your legs.”

Oliver did so slowly, hoping against hope this wasn’t what he thought it would be. And yet his cock still stood up proudly and his asspussy gave a hungry clench, waiting to be filled.

Desmond forcibly pressed Oliver’s cock down between his legs, folding it against the lips of his pussy, then released it. His cock bobbed back up, hitting his belly with a smack. Oliver’s eyes rolled up, a wail dragged out of him at the unexpected simulation, and bucked his hips up into the rough sole of Desmond’s shoe. His cock came almost immediately, hyper sensitive from not being tied up for so long, and he began rutting into Desmond’s shoe. His come added to the wetness between his legs, let him slide around on Desmond’s foot with embarrassing ease.

Desmond hummed softly under his breath as he studied the flask. His foot pressed harder against Oliver’s clit, but beyond that he didn’t acknowledge Oliver at all. His eyes flashed in a way that indicated he was activating a scan and analyzing any potential stat buffs or debuffs that the milk provided.

That wasn’t a swordsman skill, Oliver thought. It was part of the healing level tree. When had Desmond picked it up?

Desmond was so _smart._ If he could analyze potions, he could craft his own. Did he even need Oliver? He was sitting there, calmly analyzing the milk, barely affected by the dungeon’s magics - and Oliver was on the ground, rutting against his brother’s foot, masturbating with his nipples.

Maybe this was all he had to offer his brother.

Oliver came with a sob caught in his throat. His cock came a second time, spurting out so much come that his vision greyed out around the edges. Desmond’s foot kept Oliver’s cock pointed squarely at his own face, and it splattered across the underside of his chin and dripped down his neck and chest. Some landed in his mouth, and he swallowed it reflexively.

Desmond looked down at him. He still wasn’t aroused, Oliver saw. For him, letting Oliver hump himself to completion on his foot was no different than taking the dog out to piss. That was what he was becoming, Oliver realized with a sudden moment of clarity; a slutty bitch, looking for things to stuff his holes with.

“Feeling better?”

Oliver nodded mutely. That didn’t seem to be enough, so he mumbled, “Thank you for helping your big brother come.”

Desmond laughed at that. His eyes were kind, no hint of that freezing contempt, and Oliver relaxed. The dungeon’s effect on him had lessened at some point. Desmond reached between his legs to pinch his clit and slap his cunt lightly until his cock was interested again, then slipped the cock ring on.

Oliver cleaned himself in the pond again. There was something especially humiliating about doing so for a second time in such a short period, but he turned away from the thought.

He pulled his armor back on, redoing the ties to sit high on his hips. Desmond came up behind him to check the fit, slipping a finger under the straps and pulling them higher. The string slipped between the folds of his cunt again, drawn tight against his asspussy. Oliver swallowed back a hungry whine, his holes slicking up in reflex.

“This stuff’s pretty amazing,” Desmond confided in him. He held the flask to his lips and drained it in one long swallow. “General stat booster all around. +1 point across the board.” He shook his head. “In small quantities, maybe nothing special, but…” He flicked Oliver’s nipple. “In large quantities? Well, the sky’s the limit.” He flexed one arm, bicep bulging.

A trickle of fear went down Oliver’s spine. There was something ominous in Desmond’s words, lurking beneath that light and mellow tone. “I’m glad,” he said, trying to smile up at his brother.

“I bet you are,” Desmond said.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver continues to get broken, in a whole myriad of ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is NO mpreg in this lol. just pregnancy kink.
> 
> brief mention of bestiality, nothing actually depicted.
> 
> tags updated with new kinks because i can't stop myself

Oliver drifted. His whole body ached, a sweet pain-pleasure concentrated around his holes and tits, slowly scrubbing his mind and leaving him adrift in a fog. Hazily he realized it was possible he might never wake up fully and remain pliant and obedient, wrapping himself around cock for eternity.

The horror of the thought brought him back to himself, if only for a few seconds. Desmond was fucking him, his cock sliding in and out of Oliver’s asspussy while his cunt squeezed around the glass bottle Desmond shoved up in him. Spelled to be unbreakable, he said, trying to be comforting, but Oliver hadn’t cared, pleading for it to be taken out. Desmond had said that if Oliver could close his holes enough to keep the come from leaking out, he wouldn’t need to be plugged up. Oliver failed, so the bottle remained.

His stomach hurt so much. Oliver had begun sobbing from the pain of it, belly stretched and hanging below him as he was fucked on his hands and knees. Desmond had been kind, rubbing his stomach soothingly and reminding him that there were consequences to be borne, when sluts got pregnant. His body would adjust.

And then Desmond would start fucking him again. In and out, the repetitive stretch and burn of his cock opening Oliver over and over until he was tilting his hips up and begging for it, forgetting his objections. Until Desmond came, adding to the growing bulge of his belly, then pulled out and slid the bottle back inside to keep him plugged up.

Distantly, he realized there would be no relief in the form of unconsciousness for him. The hated cock ring and clit ring, with their combined endurance boost of 30 points, kept him awake and aware, preventing him from fully slipping away. He hated his panties and the way it tormented his body, but he was starting to love it as well. Desmond hadn’t touched him once down there, and the rough slide of fabric against him was the only friction he got.

Oliver had begged for Desmond to play with his clit, to rub his cock and let him come that way. Desmond had laughed, shoving his fingers into Oliver’s cunt alongside his cock, and said, “Why? Big bro seems perfectly capable of getting off like this. Don’t be greedy, Oliver.”

They had found the entrance to the fourth room after lunch. A huge stone door like all the rest, carved with runes. The stone statue of a beggar, face upturned and hands held out beseechingly. A bench with straps along it. And a golden chalice, set in jewels all along the rim.

Desmond had wasted no time strapping Oliver to the bench, imprisoning his hands and forcing his head down. Oliver’s breasts dangled, the chalice placed beneath them. The pose was nothing new to Oliver, and he was almost used to the weight of his tits by now - but Desmond had smiled down at him, eyes shining like they were kids and he’d thought of a particularly good joke, and started squeezing his tits. Oliver only produced a few drops of milk.

“Oops,” Desmond said. “Guess I sucked you dry earlier, huh?” He squatted down, dipping his fingers in the liquid spattered along the bottom of the chalice and shoving them into Oliver’s mouth, letting him taste the candy-sweet flavor of his own milk. Desmond used his fingers to fuck Oliver’s mouth for a bit, eyes dark and focused. Oliver drooled and tried not to bite, even when Desmond stroked his tongue and pushed his fingers into his throat.

Desmond pulled his fingers out, looking at the glistening saliva on them, then groaned and started unbuckling his pants. Oliver’s asspussy twitched, hopeful; like his mouth, his cunt started drooling in expectation. Desmond didn’t fuck his holes though, choosing to rub the head of his cock over Oliver’s lips, his cheek, his eyelids. Smeared precome over his skin, then pinched Oliver’s nose shut until he was gasping for air and shoved into his mouth.

Desmond could have _asked,_ Oliver thought, choking. At this point it wasn’t like Oliver ever said no to him. Desmond pushed in all the way to the base, letting go of his nose so that he could breathe, but that was the only kindness he showed. His hand fisted Oliver’s hair, yanking painfully, and then he began moving Oliver’s head up and down on his cock, using his mouth as a cocksleeve.

At that time, Oliver had the presence of mind to realize that Desmond didn’t care if he got off. Or, rather, he thought it was funny, that Oliver was so mindlessly slutty that he’d cream himself in response to anything Desmond did. But this was how Desmond saw him now - a tool to help him get off, an open mouth and a pair of willing holes. And that this was what Desmond had maybe always seen him as, a readymade fuck doll that just had to be given the right push.

Oliver began to cry at the thought, fat tears sliding down his face as Desmond fucked in and out of his mouth. Desmond lifted him off his cock and Oliver gazed up at him, grateful for the reprieve and thinking he’d been wrong, then Desmond grinned and shoved him back down. Started fucking his throat faster, one hand wiping away Oliver’s tears and licking them off.

When the first shot of come went down Oliver’s throat, burning hot and salty, the epiphany started to fade. By the time Desmond had switched his attentions to Oliver’s cunt and asspussy, stretching them further open with his fingers and laughing at Oliver’s frantic attempts to fuck himself, Oliver had forgotten about it entirely.

*

“Moo,” said Desmond, fingers tugging on Oliver’s nipples.

Slumped in his restraints, Oliver struggled to return to the present. Desmond pulled harder, enough for a little shiver of pain to work its way through the nerve endings, and Oliver lifted his head slowly, trying to think of a response.

“Wh-what…?”

Desmond sighed, as if Oliver was being obtuse on purpose. “Moo,” he repeated. “You’re a cow, aren’t you? Cows moo when they need to be milked.”

Oliver didn’t want to. He wanted to be untied, to have Desmond gently suckle at his breasts, to fuck him slowly until they came together. To be held and praised, Desmond’s voice telling him how good he was, how tight his cunt and wet his asspussy - that Oliver wasn’t disgusting, holes ruined and filthy like a cheap whore’s. Something tender and almost romantic, so that Oliver knew his brother loved him. 

Not this, strapped facedown to a bench and pumped full of come, so that he could be milked and called a cow.

Desmond’s voice took on a dangerous note. “Are you listening to me?”

“Ye-yes…” With effort, voice cracking from shame, Oliver whispered, “Moo.”

Desmond kissed his cheek. Oliver’s eyes snapped open in shock, heart beating faster. It was worth it just for that, he thought dazedly. Desmond began to milk his udders, slowly filling up the chalice below.

*

Oliver ran dry a lot, so progress was slow. It was during one such time that Desmond came up with the idea of filling him up until he looked pregnant.

 _“Can_ you get pregnant?” Desmond asked, tilting his head in curiosity.

Oliver shook his head. He had a dim memory of their father demanding to know the same thing, and a healer informing them that the boy - Oliver - was too young to breed regardless. Oliver had grown into adulthood and never bled monthly, and been relieved for it. If he had a womb to go with his cunt, it was purely vestigial.

Desmond hummed to himself in thought. “That’s good. I don’t want any little inbred bastards running around. Giving birth might actually ruin your cunt permanently. Tell me, brother,” he said. “What hole do you piss out of?”

Oliver discovered he was still capable of feeling shame, but previous attempts to avoid Desmond’s intrusive questions had resulted in his clit and cock being spanked until he was screaming for mercy.

“...my cock,” he said. “Desmond, I don’t...I don’t like these questions.”

Desmond ignored him, sitting back on his heels. He blew out a breath, then tilted Oliver’s face up so that they could make eye contact. His eyes danced.

“You’re telling me,” he said slowly, “the only purpose your cunt has is to take cock?” He howled with laughter, pounding his fist into his thigh, while Oliver whined in humiliation. His cunt flexed, a drop of slick oozing out to join the puddle below. Desmond wiped tears of laughter away from his eyes. “Bro,” he said. “If I could go back in time, I’d have fucked the cockslut into you as a kid. Trained my big brother up nice as my own personal fuckdoll. Wouldn’t have bothered with all this swordsman bullshit. Of course,” he added, “then you wouldn’t have these sweet tits or that sloppy asspussy, so maybe it all worked out.”

He walked around to examine Oliver’s cunt. Oliver couldn’t stop his body from slicking up further in anticipation. He’d already learned that when Desmond’s words were cruelest, he was most likely to fuck him the hardest. The way he liked best, Oliver’s body given no relief, forced to find pleasure in being stretched and filled then discarded.

He wasn’t disappointed. Desmond walked away then returned, holding a bottle.

“Let’s give your cunt what it wants,” Desmond said. Oliver felt the head of his brother’s cock spreading the lips of his cunt, then begin the process of breaking him open stroke by stroke. Except Oliver had already broken, even if he forgot sometimes. It was easier to remember when his brother was rewarding him.

Desmond fucked into him, a snarl building in his throat. He didn’t sound human, didn’t sound familiar or nice, like some sort of beast lurked beneath his skin. Oliver didn’t mind. It only made him wetter. He tried to push back, to meet Desmond halfway, but Desmond hit him, a long stripe of pain that lashed across the top of one asscheek. Hurt bloomed in his skin, hot and cold all at once. Oliver went limp in response, accepting the correction. Desmond had said that it was too slutty to beg for cock and try to ride him, that Oliver should try to maintain a semblance of dignity and not behave like a cheap whore.

It was hard to obey, harder than anything Oliver had to do, but he wanted Desmond to love him so much. To care about him as much as he cared for Desmond.

He was so lucky, to have a brother willing to fuck him. Desmond had started reminding him of this when Oliver forgot to thank him for the fuck. Other sluts got the cocks they needed in brothels or harems, or on the street. Oliver’s brother loved him too much to let him end up like that.

“Thank you!” Oliver rasped out. “Thank you, thank you, thank--thank you!”

Desmond’s cock grew inside him. It felt bigger, battering at something inside him that made Oliver drool and twitch around it. Desmond’s pace never faltered, fucking him through the orgasm even as Oliver wailed, the blunt head of his cock slamming into the very end of his cunt.

And then, impossibly, it went further.

Oliver threw his head back, bucking in his restraints, not sure if he was trying to thrust back or get away. Both were bad, he knew, but he had lost all control. He hadn’t even known there was some part of him still closed off to his brother, but Desmond had found it and was prying it open, intent on devouring everything Oliver had to offer. A huge, horrible pressure, too intense to be categorized as pain or pleasure, radiated out from that spot deep inside and swept through him, lighting him on fire from the base of his spine to the tip of his fingernails. Desmond growled and came, his come shooting directly into Oliver’s defunct womb, hot and thick and endless, coating Oliver’s insides with his seed so that his body would swell up with proof of his depravity and everyone would know what a slut he was, to bear the child of his baby brother. Oliver screamed and screamed and screamed, and at some point while he was screaming he came, slick squirting out from his asspussy from the force of his convulsions. Even his tits seemed to come, milk dribbling out of the engorged nipples to land in the chalice, sending ripples across the surface of the already collected liquid.

But he didn’t black out, no matter how badly he wanted to. He couldn’t escape, pinned in place by his brother’s cock, his cunt fluttering weakly around the intrusion. He hurt all over, in a way that not even his pathetic body could interpret as pleasure, and he was crying again. He felt scraped raw and open. He wanted to be alone, to try and dig out the come in his body and close his legs and never open them again, to have his tits belong to himself and not be pawed at and used to punish and tease him.

On cue, Desmond’s hands closed around his tits and began to massage them. He bent low over Oliver’s back, the warm weight of him pressing Oliver down against the bench, and that felt good. Better than the sex, soothing and comforting, but a little frightening, because his brother was so different from how he’d been. His breath tickled the shell of Oliver’s ear. Desmond kissed a spot on his neck, tongue lapping at the sweat collected there, bit him gently and soothed the hurt. 

“How does it feel to be pregnant?” he asked.

There was only one answer. “Good,” Oliver said miserably, eyelashes clotted with tears. He wanted Desmond to pull out of him. His brother’s cock was still hard in his cunt though, and he knew it wasn’t over.

Instead Desmond sighed, pleased by his answer, and said, “You don’t look pregnant yet.” His hands kneaded Oliver’s breasts, gripping and pulling on the flesh as if he was trying to mold Oliver into a new shape. Oliver felt his lips pull into a smile against his back. “I’ll fix that, don’t worry.”

He pulled out slightly, pushed in. Slow and sweet, the way Oliver had fantasized about. Had he told Desmond about that? He no longer remembered what he had and hadn’t told his brother, words slipping out of his mouth in a babble as Desmond bounced him on his cock. It would have been perfect, if not for how oversensitive he felt, flayed alive on the inside. Every leisurely scrape of Desmond’s cock in his slimy cunt was overwhelming, the inverse of what he’d experienced so far - pleasure so intense it became a kind of pain.

Desmond milked him with one hand, pulling on his tit and squeezing it. Milk trickled out in a steady stream, drawing out a relieved moan from Oliver’s lips. Desmond gave him a hard pinch, and Oliver remembered to moo, too drained to feel anything about it anymore. Desmond’s other hand worked at his asspussy, fingers dipping in the slick and feeding it to Oliver.

When Desmond came again, Oliver thought it was over. That Desmond would clean himself up in Oliver’s mouth, and take a rest. As he reminded Oliver, not everyone was absolutely insatiable for sex. It was too much to hope that he’d untie him, but Oliver could try to doze until Desmond was ready to milk him again.

Desmond pulled out. Something cold and hard nudged at his overheated cunt, and began to push in.

*

At some point, Oliver stopped needing to be milked. It helped, but his tits steadily drizzled milk, white liquid beading on the tips and dripping into the bowl. Desmond seemed excited to see that, and took the chalice away to lick the milk off. Then, sated, returned the chalice and resumed milking him, Oliver lowing helplessly all the while.

Once Desmond was satisfied with how much come he’d packed into Oliver’s cunt, he’d kept it plugged up and switched to his asspussy. _“Fuck!”_ Desmond swore, panting, fingers digging into Oliver’s narrow hips. Oliver was making high-pitched, punched out whimpers in his throat as he scrabbled on the bench, trying to escape the awful, unforgiving invasion of his body. His voice was almost gone. 

“That made you so fucking _tight,”_ Desmond said, voice full of wonder. He sang: “Olli-slut, never-been-fucked.” He began to move, hips snapping into Oliver’s body. One hand went below to play with the glass bottle, fucking it in and out. Come frothed and bubbled in Oliver’s overstretched cunt, mixing with the slick that ran down from his used hole.

He gazed down at his belly, eyes glazed. His stomach protruded, huge and round behind his breasts. The waistband of his panties dug into the soft flesh, cutting into his trapped cock. Desmond gathered the strap of his panties up in one hand and began jerking it back and forth, playing with Oliver’s cock and clit as a reward for being good, and Oliver gave up, putting his head down and lifting his ass higher in submission.

*

When there was finally enough milk to fill the chalice, Desmond took it to the statue of the beggar and placed the cup in its hands. With a creaking, grinding noise, the stone moved and the beggar drank.

The door opened. The beggar vanished, replaced by a chest, the lid inlaid with the same jewels as the chalice.

“Huh,” Desmond said. “I didn’t expect that.” He patted Oliver’s flank. “I kind of thought the statue would fuck you or something. Got you all stretched out and ready for it.” He sounded so uncaring, Oliver thought. Maybe even disappointed.

Desmond didn’t let him out right away, instead choosing to open the chest and see what prize they drew. He pulled out what looked like earrings, or maybe a necklace, decorated with two bells that rang softly as Desmond walked over. Oliver relaxed.

He was wrong. It wasn’t earrings.

Desmond attached the clamps to his nipples, the weight of the bells tugging at them in that familiar and hated blend of pleasure and pain. Oliver whined as the cold metal closed around him. A gold chain hung between the clamps, connecting them, and Desmond looped a finger in it and tugged. Cum and slick dripped out between his legs as his asspussy squeezed in automatic response.

“What a good idea,” Desmond said. “Keeps you from leaking even more than you already do. Don’t look so sad, big brother. You’re getting a nice charisma boost out of it. A whole 15 points.”

Oliver licked his lips, and managed to say, “What do I need charisma for right now?”

Desmond pretended to consider the question. “If we run into a monster, you could always try seducing it. Might work better than fighting it.” He laughed at his own joke, then unbuckled Oliver and made him stand up. Oliver swayed, clutching Desmond’s arm. He’d almost gotten used to the press of the bottle in his cunt and the way the come sloshed around in his guts, but moving had made everything shift and resettle. His thighs clamped together and he fell into Desmond’s side.

“Take it out! Take it - Desmond, it’s gonna come out!”

Desmond reached between his legs, fingers wrapping around the base of the bottle. Oliver moaned in pre-emptive relief - and then Desmond pushed it further in, grinding it in a slow circle as Oliver clung to him. He finished by pinching Oliver’s clit through his panties, rubbing it between his fingers as Oliver squealed. More come and slick splattered out below him in a parody of an orgasm.

“Feeling better?” Desmond asked. He pried Oliver’s hands off him. “Big bro, if you can’t walk, you can always crawl.”

He whistled as he walked away.

Oliver followed, taking slow, cringing steps. He didn’t want to crawl. It was Desmond’s special talent. Every time Oliver thought he’d reached the bottom depths of his own degradation, Desmond found something that still affected him. The bottle pushed at his inner walls with every movement. His belly was still round and high enough that he could rest his hands on it if he chose, though touching it made his skin ache even more. His asspussy leaked come constantly, but not fast enough that it provided any real relief.

His tits made him moan. The nipple clamps remained cold, refusing to warm up, and the bells pulled on them. Every time he breathed, his chest moved and the bells jingled in response.

Desmond watched him creep along, smiling.

In the fourth room of the dungeon, they met another party of adventurers. A party of two, just like Desmond and Oliver. The leader introduced himself as Galen the Whore-Maker, and his companion as the whore.

Oliver stared, transfixed. The whore was an elf, golden-skinned and green-eyed. Along his ass and cock, the whore’s skin darkened to a beautiful bronze, as though he had been forged from metal. His hair was a pale, shimmering white, like silk shot through with sunlight.

But the whore was not beautiful. Not to Oliver, at least, though Galen and Desmond seemed to disagree. The whore had grown a pair of breasts so large they forced him to crawl, unable to stand up under the weight, and they dragged along the ground as he moved. His hole had been torn open, the pink furl of it devastated. Streaks of white come painted the inside. As Galen demonstrated, he could fuck the whore on his fist with little to no effort, and the whore would only roll his eyes in ecstasy and spurt a dribble of come from his cock on every thrust. That too was a modification Galen had made.

“Caught thieving from the wrong lord,” Galen said over dinner. He watched enviously as Desmond milked Oliver into a cup. Oliver trembled, cheeks and ears burning, and refused to look up.

As a courtesy, Desmond shared Oliver’s milk with Galen, who drank with a deep, appreciative sigh. “Good stuff,” he said. “Nice mod. Smart.” He looked over Oliver, taking in the swollen belly and the trails of come down his legs. “Is he actually pregnant, or are you just having fun?”

In response, Desmond had Oliver turn around and show Galen and the whore the bottle in his cunt. Galen requested, and received, permission to touch him, and reached in to pull the bottle out an inch. Oliver flinched at his hands, unfamiliar and strange, and glanced at Desmond pleadingly; but Desmond was ignoring him, looking at the whore crouched at Galen’s feet.

Instead of fucking him with the bottle, as Oliver had been braced for, Galen twirled it. The flesh of his inner walls caught against the smooth mouth of the bottle as it dragged through him, and Oliver’s hips began to shake as he fought to remain upright. The bells on his tits sang out merrily.

When Galen had satisfied his curiosity, Oliver was allowed to sit down, legs drawn up to his chest so that they would be easy to part. He shivered, avoiding looking at the whore for too long; the lovely, eerie green eyes were blank, but every now and then a flicker of self seemed to emerge, a horrified comprehension of his new body and fate.

Desmond nodded at the whore. “What’s going to happen to him?”

Galen shrugged. “The lord had some peculiar tastes. You know how the rich are. Wanted the whore kitted out like this. Once we’re done, I’ll pour a healing potion up the whore’s ass to tighten him back up and let the lord rape him open again.”

“What a pity,” Desmond said. Oliver shuddered. His brother’s hand dropped to rest on his head, stroking his hair like he was a frightened animal to be soothed.

“After the lord is done with him, he’ll be thrown into the stables for the servants to fuck when they’re off-duty. Keeps them happy. And once his hole is too loose for even that, he can service the stud horses and the dogs, or whatever animal the lord is breeding up there. He’ll be spending the rest of his life on his back.” Galen scratched his beard. He was a tall, broad man, bigger and older than them both. He had eyes the same piercing green as the whore’s, a coincidence that tugged at Oliver’s heart somehow. A light pattern of scales decorated the backs of his hands, vanished up his sleeves. The firelight picked out the red and gold sheen of them.

“The whore’s in for a hard life,” Galen admitted. “The lord might not like it, but he didn’t forbid it, so…” He shrugged. “Took the whore through the pain room, until he learned to jizz when he’s beaten. And let him learn how to ride the mechanical horses. The healing potion will reverse most of that one, but if he’s done it before, he’ll know he can do it again.” His eyes were full of strange pity as he glanced at the whore.

Oliver wrapped his arms around himself and stole a glance up at Desmond. His brother would never do that to him. Abruptly, fiercely, a surge of gratitude welled up in him.

Desmond looked disgusted. “All this, over some theft?” His lip curled.

Galen shook his head, but in agreement, not denial. “And yours? You pay for that cunt to be added on?”

Desmond tangled his fingers in Oliver’s hair and turned his head to face Galen. Oliver dropped his eyes, not wanting to see the admiring lust in the stranger’s gaze. It made his belly crawl with something that might be fear...or not.

“He was born with it,” Desmond said. “A natural-born slut.” He made Oliver spread his legs, show Galen the bulge of his cock and clit, and began playing with both. Oliver whimpered as Desmond ground the heel of his palm into both, his stupid cunt pulsing around the bottle thinking it was a real cock. “Just wanted to make some tweaks here and there.” He stopped, sliding his fingers into Oliver’s mouth in a silent order to lick them clean. “He’s getting stupid already, not that he was the brightest bulb to begin with. But I don’t want him dumb and drooling. It’s more fun when he knows what’s going on. At least, enough to cry about it.”

Galen took a drink of water, still looking at Oliver’s exposed cunt. “Don’t stay too much longer,” he advised. “Unless you’re trying to turn him into something like this.” He kicked the whore in the side, and the whore shivered and arched his back in a silent plea, showing everyone his hole.

Galen seemed to be thinking, turning an idea over in his mind, then said, “I’ll come out with it. Want to trade for the night? I’ll take a turn with yours, you have a round with mine?”

Oliver looked anxiously at Desmond. Surely his brother wouldn’t agree? Desmond was watching him, eyes dark and mouth hard in the firelight. Oliver shifted, then winced as the bottle pressed up somewhere new inside him, the bells chiming as his nipples brushed against Desmond’s leg.

“No,” Desmond said. “His holes are for my exclusive use.” He looked at Galen and at the whore, and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver has his first foursome. He doesn't really enjoy it, but everyone else does. And then things get a little better for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> foursome alert. and...a slight hint at a plot, i guess.
> 
> next chapter will be the last. contemplating a sequel.

Desmond bound Oliver’s legs apart, bending each leg and tying the ankle to the thigh. He made a collar from the rope and placed it around Oliver’s neck, then wound more rope behind each knee and attached it to the collar. He untied the straps of the panties, peeling the fabric away from Oliver’s sticky cunt and ass. The cold air blew over Oliver’s exposed cock and clit, drawing out a pained squeal. His legs squeezed together defensively, only to jerk at his own neck and cause him to choke. As a finishing touch, Desmond slipped the chain of the nipple clamps into Oliver’s mouth and ordered him to bite down. Every time Oliver moved, the chain tugged on his nipples painfully.

Desmond told him what to do. Oliver gazed up at him pleadingly, but his brother just smiled down at him and stroked his fingers over Oliver’s cheekbones, along the curve of his eye socket.

“You’ll do great, Olli-slut,” Desmond said soothingly. “Make me proud, okay?”

Oliver couldn’t walk or crawl, more helpless than the whore watching by Galen’s feet, so Desmond carried him to the seat, hands holding him up under his knees. Oliver had whined, forced to lean back against Desmond’s chest, arms clutching him. He could feel the bottle slipping out with every step, his cunt too loose to hold onto it. He didn’t know what would happen if he released Desmond’s come early, but he knew he wouldn’t enjoy it.

Desmond slapped his ass, a warning to be quiet, and Oliver stilled. His brother sat down, settling him on his lap in full display of the other two. Galen was binding the whore’s arms behind him, the rope wrapping from wrist to elbow, leaving the whore to fall forward and try to balance on his enormous breasts.

Desmond unbuttoned himself with one hand and fucked into his hole with a smooth, easy movement, as though they had been doing this for years. Punched out a little gasp from Oliver’s throat as he fell back, feeling the bottle in his cunt shoved aside as his little brother’s cock bullied his way in.

“Hold yourself open,” Desmond murmured in his ear. “Show them your cunt.”

He had left Oliver’s hands free to do this. Oliver shook his head in denial, but he reached for the lips of his cunt and pulled them further apart, exposing the edges of the bottle that had been fucking him open for hours now. To his horror, he discovered he could stretch himself further open, enough that his brother’s come and his own slick could start seeping around the glass edges and ooze down onto his hole, where it dripped onto Desmond’s cock and got fucked back in.

“Whore,” called Desmond, rolling his hips up into Oliver’s weeping hole, “when was the last time you ate?”

Galen fisted one hand in the whore’s hair and pulled him up, helped him wobble his way over on his knees. The whore’s eyes had filled with green from corner to corner, as though the iris had leaked. He was looking at where Desmond’s cock entered Oliver’s body, greed shining in those unearthly eyes.

“Answer him,” Galen said shortly.

The whore drooled. “Cuh - can’t remember,” he said, voice slow and thick. Elves were known for the musicality of their voices, but this one had been throatfucked until his voice broke, leaving him hoarse and cracked.

“It’s your lucky day,” Desmond informed him. Galen pushed the whore down, holding him inches away from Oliver’s cunt. “My brother’s cunt is filled with delicious come, just for you. All you can eat.”

“What do you say?” Galen jerked on the whore’s hair.

“Thuh - thuh - thank you…” The whore stuck his tongue out, trying to reach. Oliver saw his tongue was green, the color of spring, and longer than a human tongue, curling and pointed.

“Why does he talk like that?” Desmond said to Galen. Every bounce of Oliver’s hole on his cock made Oliver’s tits hurt, made the chain jerk and pinch his nipples. It took all his concentration to keep the chain in his mouth and continue to torture himself with it, because Desmond had told him to.

“Whores don’t talk,” Galen answered. “Except to ask for more.”

Both Desmond and Galen laughed. The whore ignored them, straining to lick at the come and slick frothing out of Oliver’s cunt. Oliver closed his eyes, wanting to block out what was happening, but that just made him aware of the slippery slide of his brother’s cock inside him, the unforgiving press of the glass bottle being pushed around.

The whore was trying to speak. “Puh...puh…”

“Pussy?” Galen suggested.

 _“Pretty,”_ the whore spat out. For a moment his eyes flashed. The vacancy behind them seemed to fill up, and a real person was there with them.

Then it drained away as Desmond laughed, and the whore was empty again. “He is, isn’t he? My brother’s pretty cunt.”

Oliver couldn’t see his own cunt past the curve of his belly, but he knew Desmond was making fun of him, and he moaned in protest. He knew his cunt was ugly, red and ruined, the lips permanently swollen. Holding it open like this for inspection only exposed the wreckage further.

“You should have seen it a few days ago,” Desmond said. He and Galen were staring at each other. “Pink little slit, never been touched.” He gave a particularly hard thrust, forcing a pained grunt out of Oliver’s mouth past the chain. “Slut didn’t even know how to finger himself properly. Now look at it.”

Galen’s eyes dropped, not in submission but in fascination. “You did good work.” He held onto the whore with one hand, preventing him from moving closer. With the other, he began to undo the ties of his leather armor, revealing -

Oliver whined in shock, nearly dropping the chain. He caught it with his tongue as it slithered out, managed to clamp down with his teeth before he dropped it entirely. Desmond hadn’t said what would happen if he let go, but Oliver had no desire to find out. The chain yanked on his nipples and he squeezed his holes in pain and ecstasy. The bottle inched out a little further.

Galen had two cocks. Each was too big for Oliver to wrap his hand around, the skin flushed a dark red, almost purple. The white drops of precome oozing out the tips made for an obscene contrast. Oliver couldn’t stop staring, his cunt and asspussy both twitching in front of everyone’s eyes. 

Was that what the whore was taking in his hole? Every day? Both cocks?

“What the hell,” Desmond said delightedly. “Just when I think I’ve seen everything.” His cock stabbed deeper into Oliver’s hole, temporarily driving all thoughts of Galen out of his mind.

“I’ve got naga ancestry,” Galen said calmly. “Helps to have two cocks, in this line of work.”

“I bet it does.”

The whore was whining, twisting in Galen’s grip. His hips stuttered forward rabbit-fast. Desmond looked at him, and then deliberately pulled Oliver almost all the way off, then dropped him back down. Come splurted out of him, leftover from the third room, and Galen released the whore, who began to lick it off the ground.

While the whore was occupied, Galen began to remove the glass bottle from Oliver’s cunt. He took his time, pulling it out a few inches, then releasing it and watching as it got sucked back inside and slammed back in. He was watching Oliver’s face as he did so. It was hard to tell under the beard, but Oliver thought he was smiling, satisfied at the reactions he was producing. The other hand fisted one cock, pumping it slowly.

At last he pulled the glass bottle so it was almost all the way out. Oliver cried, from both fear and anticipation. He wanted it out, wanted his stomach flat again, but he didn’t know what was going to happen after. The whore was watching him, scooting closer and nosing at the folds of his cunt in anticipation, licking his fingers and trying to insert his tongue inside.

“My brother’s cunt hasn’t had any cock in it but mine,” Desmond said to both the whore and Galen. “And it never will. But, whore, you may have the honor of eating my come out of it.” He smiled at Galen, hard and amused. “You, my friend, can fuck your whore and pretend it’s my brother’s cunt.”

“Generous of you,” Galen said. His tone was sarcastic, but his breath came out of him in short pants, and he was jerking himself off harder. He pulled the bottle out with a savage motion, and the whore shrieked in triumph and dove in. Oliver spasmed, rapture and humiliation warring for dominance in him. He didn’t want to release come all over the whore’s face, but the whore didn’t care, his long tongue meeting no resistance as he licked Oliver open and drank Desmond’s seed. There was so much - Desmond had spent what felt like hours fucking it into him - and Oliver wanted it out. What the whore didn’t get to right away leaked down to collect along Desmond’s cock, soaking the balls slapping up against Oliver’s ass, but the whore was diligent. Well-trained. His tongue snuck along the puffy rim of Oliver’s hole, trying to push in with Desmond’s cock alongside, and Desmond groaned at the sensation.

“Whore’s got a talent,” he said. “He’s too good to waste in a stable somewhere.”

“I’ll pass your notes along,” Galen said dryly. He gathered both his cocks in one hand, making sure Oliver was watching. He grinned, teeth flashing white against the dark beard. It wasn’t like Desmond’s smiles, which were never anything but mocking these days; Galen’s gaze was inviting, dark and ready. An almost physical heat caressed Oliver’s skin. He pictured Galen opening him up, stuffing both his holes with thick cockmeat. It would be different from the bottle and from the lever, because Galen’s cocks were real and Oliver could mess himself up on both at once, clench around them and be filled with seed in both holes at once. He could feel good without feeling ashamed of it.

Galen’s smile grew. “Like what you see, pretty slut?”

Before Oliver’s horrified, mesmerized gaze, Galen fucked both into the whore’s open hole. The whore screamed, distracted from his pursuit of come. His back arched, mouth falling open, and Oliver couldn’t tell if he was in pain or not. The whore shuddered, a full-body seizing of his muscles, and his cock spat come out on the ground beneath him.

“Clench harder,” Desmond ordered Oliver. “Keep yourself open. Whore, get back up here and take care of my brother’s cunt.”

The whore obeyed. His eyes had fallen closed as Galen’s cock pumped into him. Open, his expression was eager and willing. 

Most of the come had expelled itself in the first rush, a feeling so wonderful that Oliver had come from it alone. Desmond chuckled as the come gushed over his balls, and the whore rushed to clean it up. His green eyes turned up to look at Oliver, Desmond’s cock plunging in and out right in front of him, and the whore began to lick his way up back to Oliver’s cunt.

The whore learned fast. He thrust his tongue inside Oliver’s cunt, laving around Oliver’s fingers in a sly attempt at sabotage. Oliver mewled, trying to keep himself open as ordered. He wasn’t allowed to turn away from the whore’s mouth, so the whore’s tongue worked at his fingers, forced him to pinch the lips of his own cunt and cause tears of pain to spring to his eyes. With every thrust of Galen’s cocks into the whore’s hole, the whore rocked into his cunt, his nose rubbing against the sensitive private flesh, teeth pressed against his opening.

The whore figured out that if he sucked Oliver’s clit, rolling his tongue over the nub, or if he enveloped Oliver’s bound cock in his mouth, Oliver’s cunt obligingly squeezed out some come. Oliver hated how grateful he felt for it, fighting the urge to ride the whore’s tongue and beg him for more. His cock and clit were always sore now, demanding relief that never came, and the heat of the whore’s mouth soaked deep into his skin, soothing him.

His tongue reached deep inside Oliver, deeper than a human tongue could. The whore didn’t care about the slurping sounds of Oliver’s cunt being cleaned, but Oliver did, and he sobbed as he drenched the whore’s face in slick, the walls of his cunt spasming around the whore’s wicked tongue in undisguised pleasure. The whore’s face was shiny with slick, and he looked up at Oliver with the eyes of a real person again and showed his teeth.

“Suh - _sweet,”_ he said, and went back to work.

Galen made an impatient noise and shoved the whore’s head down to the ground. He forced the whore’s legs closed to tighten his hole and the whore wailed, dragged back and forth on his huge breasts. He bent down for a closer look at Oliver’s cunt; obligingly, Desmond tilted Oliver’s body up, his cock hitting at a different angle.

Oliver’s cunt fluttered under Galen’s stare. It was different somehow - Oliver felt vulnerable in a brand new way, his cunt clean and wet, like it could belong to the person he used to be before the dungeon. Galen was looking at it and visibly imagining his own cocks sliding in, forcing Oliver’s cunt to mold itself to a new shape. His lips drew back in a snarl and his hips pistoned forward, driving the whore hard against the ground. The whore screamed ecstatically from the pain of it, and Oliver imagined himself in the whore’s place.

Desmond’s hand yanked Oliver’s head back, forcing his back to arch and thrusting his tits up in the air. A clamp slipped from his nipple with a sharp burst of hurt, the bell ringing loudly as it was flung about in the air. Free of its restraint, that tit began to bounce out of sync with the other, milk leaking and running down the underside, fucked off of him in little drops that flew and landed on the whore’s prone body. Galen watched it and fucked the whore harder with an erratic burst of speed, the rhythm disintegrating until at last he came, sweat dripping from his forehead onto the whore’s back. Desmond bit hard into the side of Oliver’s neck, breaking skin, and the pain of it made Oliver scream. Then Desmond was coming as if he’d never stop, cock pulsing endlessly in Oliver’s exhausted hole, his seed so hot it felt like it might scald him from the inside.

Desmond sighed, leaning back in his seat. He squeezed Oliver’s freed breast in careless affection, then replaced the clamp on the sore nipple. Oliver’s hole gave his softening cock an answering squeeze.

Desmond slipped his cock free, then dragged the whore back up.

“You did a good job,” Desmond said, almost kindly. “Clean me up, then get my brother’s asspussy as clean as his cunt.”

*

After some consideration, Desmond tied Oliver’s arms up behind him in the same style as the whore’s bindings. It was because Oliver had made the mistake of assuming Desmond was going to free him, and Desmond flicked his clit and told him not to give him orders. After some contemplation, he removed the cock ring and laughed when Oliver promptly came, hips jerking in the air as his come sprayed over his stomach and chest.

The whore wasn’t freed either, though Galen said he was used to sleeping tied up. Desmond was nervous that he might try to fuck Oliver in the night, so Galen unearthed a cock cage from his pack. The whore whined when he saw it, but didn’t try to fight, and as soon as his cock was tied away he inched over to Oliver and shoved his face between his legs.

Desmond watched, chin in hand. Oliver kept looking at him, trying to get his attention and beg for mercy, but his brother ignored him, as always.

“Is he going to be at it all night?”

Galen shrugged. He’d stripped down to his waist, revealing that the red and gold scales ran up to his shoulders, spilled down his back and chest. “Possibly. He’s been modded to need less sleep,” he said. “Never seen him so eager. He’s got a little crush on your brother, it looks like.”

“Join the fucking club,” Desmond muttered. He stalked over and grabbed the whore’s hair, jerked him up and stared into his blank green eyes. “Use anything but your mouth,” Desmond said poisonously, “and I’ll cut your little cock off. Whores don’t need cocks to survive.”

Galen raised his eyebrows. “My employer might have a problem with that.” He thought about it. “Or not.”

Oliver was barely conscious, striking out desperately for the dreamy, easy oblivion of sleep. Even the whore’s talented tongue, twining around his cock and trying to rouse him, barely registered.

The whore gave up and moved down. Licked a long wet stripe between cunt and hole, sighing with happiness at the taste of his slick. Oliver closed his eyes and let himself drift away.

When he woke up, it was to the whore’s tit in his mouth. The fire was nothing but embers glowing faintly, Galen and Desmond were two shapes in the dark, asleep and unaware. The whore’s flesh filled his mouth, made him choke. Oliver thrashed, frightened, tongue thrusting against the nipple as he tried to spit it out.

“Shh,” the whore whispered. The whore’s eyes glowed in the dark like a cat’s, enough to reveal that that frightening vacancy had receded. “Duh - dun bite.”

His tit slipped from Oliver’s mouth and dragged down his body as he backed up. The whore moved ponderously, but in the night he had had plenty of time to arrange himself over Oliver’s body, laying himself so that the steel of his cock cage rubbed against Oliver’s cock. The whore sighed happily and bent to lap at the corner of Oliver’s mouth. Oliver tried to turn his head, but the whore followed, lips chasing his, and kissed him. Oliver’s lips parted and he made a noise of surprise, swallowed up by the whore’s hungry mouth. He’d never been kissed before, he realized. Not properly. Desmond’s joke in the second room didn’t count.

Oliver was growing tired of crying. It was so easy to make him cry now, like his eyes leaked tears the same way his tits leaked milk. A stray comment from Desmond, or a particularly brutal thrust of his cock. A new game, or a new challenge. Oliver cried and cried, and nothing got better.

The whore’s kiss was wet and messy, tongue fucking into his mouth the same way it had his cunt. Oliver kissed back, trying to imitate the whore’s movements, and the whore wriggled on top of him in excitement.

“Pretty,” the whore said as he pulled away, looking down at him. His green cat-eyes curved into crescents. He wasn’t talking about his cunt or his hole, but about Oliver himself, and Oliver hated how warm that made him feel. A completely different kind of heat than the arousal Desmond brought out so easily, but one that left him lightheaded and breathless. And wet, he thought, clamping his lips shut around a whimper that threatened to betray him.

The whore squirmed down his body, stopping at his tits. Pillowed his head there, sighing, his warm breath fanning out over Oliver’s breasts. He kissed them, then swayed back onto his knees so that he could look Oliver in the face.

“Qu - qu - qu…” A look of frustration crossed his face. “Shh,” he repeated and Oliver nodded, confused. Then the whore bent down and took the chain in his teeth, and Oliver tried not to cry out as his nipples were tugged. The bells rang out softly, and the whore hissed between his teeth and let go. Came back up, his expression determined, and sealed his lips over one swollen tit. He bit the bell, using his tongue to press it against the chain and silence it, then flung his head back with a sharp jerk. The clamp came off and Oliver bit into his lip, gasping from the pain. The whore repeated the process with the other nipple.

Oliver stared at the ceiling, vision blurred. He breathed in short, sharp bursts through his nose, lips pressed firmly together to prevent sound from escaping.

The whore bent his head down, silver hair flowing over his shoulders, and pressed his tongue against one nipple in silent apology. Then began to lap at it, soft kittenish licks of his curling tongue, drinking the milk Oliver’s body produced now. Oliver sighed into it, the heat of the whore’s body pressing him down.

The whore paused, licking his lips. A contemplative expression came over him. His eyes flashed.

Then he returned to Oliver’s tit, no longer content with a few drops. He attached his mouth to the nipple and sucked hard, and Oliver bucked his hips up against the whore, cunt and hole wet and throbbing. He wanted a cock - even or maybe especially the whore’s cock - to slide in and claim him, stretch him open while he was sucked, and for a moment he forgot why the whore couldn’t do that for him.

The whore switched sides, intent on draining him dry. There was a relentlessness to his movements that made Oliver uneasy, made him feel pinned down and weak - but then the whore looked up and saw the anxiety on his face, and kissed his nipple gently to try and comfort him.

In the end, the whore crawled back up to his mouth. The weight of his breasts was crushing, but it no longer frightened Oliver. It was almost comforting now. The whore pressed his lips against Oliver’s, and when Oliver opened his lips, milk flowed between them.

The whore’s eyes met his. “Be strong,” he said. His voice was low but no longer so rough, and there was a clarity in his gaze that hadn’t existed earlier. Oliver looked at him, puzzled at the change.

“What’s your name?” he whispered.

The whore was silent for so long that Oliver thought he hadn’t heard him. But at last he did speak, quiet and hurt, and he said, “Aimon.”

Aimon positioned himself between Oliver’s legs, though it was an ungainly and awkward posture. “Can’t fuck you properly,” he murmured. “Wish I could. Make you feel good.”

Then he bent his head and kissed the soft skin of Oliver’s inner thigh, and moved back towards Oliver’s cunt.

*

Oliver woke in the morning to find Galen gazing down at them, his cocks out and pointing towards his face. He was pumping slowly, watching the way Aimon worked at Oliver’s hole, tongue twisting in him and keeping him open. Oliver was jolted the rest of the way out of sleep by the shock of lightning that went down his spine, and he rode Aimon’s mouth, trying to chase the electric wave of pleasure coursing through him.

“Pretty,” Galen said, but it sounded nothing at all like when Aimon had said it. It reminded Oliver of being pinned under Desmond’s foot. The memory hurt, but his body disagreed and moistened, and Aimon cleaned him up.

Desmond was still sleeping, so Galen kept his voice low. Something about it scraped along Oliver’s nerve endings, made him shiver and tighten around Aimon’s tongue.

“If you were mine, pretty slut,” he said, “I wouldn’t keep you tied up like that. You’re built to seek pleasure. Who am I to stop you?” Oliver stared dazedly up at him. Aimon sucked on his clit, rubbing his sharp elf nose on the underside of Oliver’s cock, which released a thin stream of come in gratitude. “I’d let you sit on the cock of anyone who’d have you. Fuck you in both holes every day, until you’re sloppy with it.”

That was hardly different from what Desmond did, Oliver thought, with a curl of something acidic in his gut.

Galen exhaled slowly, hands gliding over his flesh. “I could teach you to _want_ to be fucked, pretty slut. To want to be owned and defiled. Not just when your brother is rutting into your cunt and you’re too spunk drunk to know any better.” His hands sped up. “You’d be a _vision.”_

His seed splashed over Oliver’s face, coated his lips and throat. He bent down and forced Oliver’s lips open, pushed the come into his mouth and held it there until Oliver swallowed.

Obedient, vacant-eyed, Aimon inched his way up and began the task of erasing the evidence.

*

“Hmm,” Desmond said, picking up the discarded nipple clamps. He dangled them from one finger, letting the bells chime, and shot Aimon a sharp look.

Galen snorted. “The whore must have been hungry,” he said and kicked Aimon onto his back. Oliver, free of the ropes finally, flinched, but Aimon only gave an ecstatic, mindless moan and spread his legs.

Desmond watched, eyes narrowed. “What lord does he belong to?”

“Lord Summersham,” Galen said easily. “Why?”

Desmond shrugged, gaze never leaving Aimon. “I’m a curious fellow,” he said. “Or maybe I’ve grown attached. Either way, I’m interested in seeing what’ll become of the whore.”

“Want to fuck him?” Galen offered in a show of generosity. Then ruined it by adding, “My offer still stands.”

“Thought I made myself clear.”

Galen sighed. “Can’t blame a man for trying,” he said. “Come along, whore. It’s time to go meet your new master.”

Aimon crawled after Galen, blank-eyed. Oliver watched him, then turned his face into Desmond’s leg and closed his eyes.

“Big brother,” Desmond said. “Something you want to tell me?”

Oliver hesitated, deliberating over his words, then said, “He used his mouth only.”

A spark of defiance, couched carefully in obedience.

Desmond wasn’t stupid enough to miss it, but far from being angry, he seemed to relax. “So he did,” he said. “What a clever, clever whore.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a lot worse for Oliver. And then continue to get worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here there be tentacles.
> 
> i have no idea what this kink would be called, but basically at one point desmond uses oliver like a human claw machine and...yeah.
> 
> some implications of father/son incest while underage. not explicit at all.
> 
> long notes at the end.

“You know,” Desmond said, “I don’t think you’re being properly grateful.”

He gave Oliver’s ass a hard pinch, leaving a small red mark behind. In time, it would darken to a bruise, joining the others that littered Oliver’s body.

Oliver clung to Desmond’s neck. He didn’t have a choice; Desmond had bound his arms together from wrist to elbow and looped them over his head. Had done the same to Oliver’s legs from knee to ankle, stepping between them so that Oliver was tied to him.

Oliver hadn’t understood what was happening until Desmond’s cock pushed into his cunt. Then Desmond stood up, Oliver clutching him in shock, and started walking. Every step fucked his cock in and out of Oliver’s cunt, made him bounce unless he exerted himself and held himself against Desmond’s body. Doing that made his tits burn, his nipples forced to rub against Desmond’s chest. He couldn’t decide which was worse.

Oliver protested. “I can walk!” Every time gravity brought him back down on Desmond’s cock, his clit scraped against Desmond’s leather armor, making him shudder and clench. His cock was trapped between their bodies and traitorously thrilled by it, releasing steady drops of precum that made a mess of Desmond’s front. Most maddeningly of all, it didn’t feel like a real fuck and his cunt didn’t understand why, pulsing around his brother’s cock to encourage it.

“We don’t have time for you to play with your cunt and asspussy every couple yards,” Desmond replied cuttingly. “We already wasted the whole night so that you could get your cunt licked out and try to seduce a stranger.”

That hadn’t been what had happened, right? It had been Desmond’s idea to stop. Desmond had been the one to tie him up, to order Aimon to clean him out.

“It amazes me,” Desmond said, “that even a braindead whore looked at you and knew you were meant to be fucked. Tell me, Olli-slut, did you try to get him to put his cock cage in you? It would have torn your cunt up pretty bad, but” - a hard slap on his butt, as Oliver thrashed - “a slut like you can get off on anything.”

That wasn’t true, Oliver thought in despair. Desmond began walking faster, jostling Oliver around on his cock, and all thoughts except of what was happening between his legs vanished.

“I saw him kissing your cunt this morning,” Desmond said casually. “You were practically screaming from how much you liked it. You know,” he added, voice dark, “I can’t believe I trusted you when you said you were a virgin.”

Oliver’s mouth fell open. “I - I am! I was!”

“We’ve been here three days and you’re the biggest slut I’ve ever met. That doesn’t just happen overnight,” Desmond said, matter-of-fact. “I should have realized. Bet you were gagging for it when I left. Started slutting it up as soon as you read my note. How many cocks did you take?”

Oliver whimpered, unable to think of a response. There was a kernel of truth in Desmond’s words, enough to silence him. When Desmond had left, Oliver had talked to more people - tried flirting for the first time, a little shyly and ineptly. But that was all it had been.

Was Desmond right? Had Oliver been trying to whore around?

He couldn’t stop himself from crying. Desmond felt the wetness against his neck and turned, then reached over to pull Oliver’s head back and kiss his eyes. His tongue, hungry and rough, moved over the tear trails.

“I - I -”

“No wonder you fell on my cock so quickly,” Desmond continued, breath tickling Oliver’s ear. “You were probably dreaming of it every night. Fucking pervert older brother.”

“N-no,” Oliver said, but his protest sounded weak even to his own ears. How many times had he found his underwear wet with slick?

It was horrible.

Desmond was right about him. Maybe he’d been in denial about it before the dungeon, unaware of what he was seeking, but the last three days had broken him open to reveal what lay inside. Forced him to confront the truth of himself.

His whole life, he’d been so averse to being compared to a woman. His face remained delicate into adulthood, his frame light. That he wore his hair long didn’t help. But women were strong; they fought, they healed, they ruled and served, they lived and died like anyone else. Unlike Oliver, women didn’t exist solely to be fucked, their holes desperate to be bred. They didn’t have holes that dripped and gaped and were sensitive enough to orgasm from being rubbed by their underwear. That was just Oliver, a pathetic slut coming around his younger brother’s cock.

“‘M sorry,” he said, crying into his brother’s neck, rocking his hips through his orgasm. He felt sick and ashamed, and the worse he felt the faster his hips moved. The part of him that felt like the old him, lured to the surface by Aimon’s gentle, sweet mouth, receded. It felt like it might not come back this time, washed away with each burning wave of sickened pleasure.

“That’s more like it,” Desmond said and ran his hand up Oliver’s back, warm, broad palm stroking his skin. He shushed him. “Gods, it feels amazing when you cry on my cock. I’ll make you feel better, don’t worry.” His hand dipped and circled the rim of Oliver’s hole, teasing it. “How many fingers do you think I can put in here at once?”

“I don’t know,” Oliver whispered. His hole had been leaking slick the entire time, hoping for the same treatment as his cunt. It felt so  _ greedy. _

“Hmm,” said Desmond. “Let’s start with three.” He didn’t wait for Oliver’s acquiescence, sliding his fingers in. Oliver’s brain, already fuzzy, whited out. He loved having both holes filled, so long as it was with something real. A cock would be best, but fingers were good too. Things like the glass bottle, clinical and unforgiving, were the worst.

Desmond didn’t fuck his hole properly though, letting Oliver bounce on his fingers as he walked until he was squirming from the need for more. When had his younger brother gotten so strong? He’d always carried in him the potential for raw strength, but he seemed taller than when they had first entered. Taller, broader, overall just  _ bigger. _

Oliver’s tits ached. He squirmed, bells jingling. He needed to be milked, he realized, and that was another thing that marked him as a slut. Women lactated to feed their children as they grew; Oliver lactated to feed men while they fucked him.

That was when Desmond called him ungrateful. Ungrateful for having a brother willing to fuck him when he needed it. Ungrateful for having a brother willing to forgive him his sluttiness. Ungrateful for having a brother like Desmond.

So Oliver said thank you. Every time he landed back down on Desmond’s cock and his hole got spread apart on Desmond’s fingers, he said thank you, repeating himself mindlessly, culminating in Oliver sobbing his way through a prayer of thanks for allowing him to come.

“That’s an idea,” Desmond remarked. “I’ll have to think on that.”

Oliver blinked up at him. He felt - what had Galen said? -  _ spunk drunk. _ Everything awash in a sea of sensation and warmth, smoothing out the sharp edges of unpleasant thoughts. Sweet as poisoned honey.

“Let’s talk about Galen,” said Desmond. “Did you fantasize about his cocks? I felt how tight you got when you saw him.”

“Sorry,” Oliver mumbled. “‘M a slut. I saw cocks and got wet.”

Desmond’s steps slowed, then resumed their normal pace. “That’s  _ right,” _ he said, and Oliver gave a happy clench of his cunt at the uncomplicated delight of being praised.

“Wanna get fucked,” Oliver said muzzily. He felt so far away from his body. “Both holes. At once.”

“I know,” Desmond said. “Don’t worry, bro. I’ve got it taken care of.”

“Thank you,” Oliver said.

Desmond smiled. Brushed his hair away from his face, winding the end of his braid in his fist and pulling his head back. Touched Oliver’s exposed throat.

“That’s right,” he said. “Just remember. I’m doing this because I love you.”

*

There was a pit. It was huge, almost ten feet across, and the walls were made of smooth black marble. Despite the light of the cavern, the walls reflected nothing.

The pit wasn’t empty. There was a pillar of some kind at the bottom, sheathed in stone. It looked, Oliver thought as dread curdled in his gut, not unlike the lever in the first room that had fucked him open.

Desmond untied his legs, lifting Oliver off his cock. Come dripped out. Desmond had come twice in his cunt and once in his hole on the way over, and when he’d gone soft, he’d ordered Oliver to start using his holes more. “Don’t just hang there like a dead fish,” he said. “Fucking  _ squeeze.” _

His grip had been like iron around Oliver’s thighs, preventing him from fucking himself. Oliver had been forced to try and flex his holes around Desmond’s cock and coax him back to hardness. It had made Oliver want to die, somewhere deep inside, and that shame had fueled him. Given his efforts an extra edge, made every press of Desmond’s cock inside him shoot a few more sparks up his spine. He wanted so badly for Desmond to stroke his back, to kiss his cheek and call him good. If that meant he had to be a cocksleeve, then Oliver would do it.

They’d made good time. Faster than when Oliver was allowed to walk.

Desmond didn’t bother to untie his arms. Left him on the ground, wet and messy, and stepped over him to read the writing on the door. This time, Oliver saw, there was a diagram.

He tried not to look at it. Instead he kept his gaze focused on the pit. There was a harness of some kind abandoned next to it, attached to a rig and pulley system.

He had a very bad feeling about this.

“Excited?” Desmond walked over and followed his gaze. He bent down and tugged the chain between Oliver’s nipples, forcing him up and onto his feet. Oliver scrambled to get up, but wasn’t fast enough to avoid the needle-sharp pinch of the clamp, and made a helpless, hurt noise at it.

“Good news,” his brother said. “It’s a legendary spawn. That thing down there, Olli-slut, is an exit key. If you want out of this dungeon, you’re going to have to go fetch it.”

Desmond’s hand clamped around the back of Oliver’s neck. He bent Oliver over the edge, holding him there so that Oliver could get a good look at the key waiting for him in the dark.

Oliver looked. It didn’t look much like a key - it looked, he thought miserably, like the cock of a monster. It was made of a dark red color, almost metallic in the light. The head flared into a tapered point, designed to penetrate up into his womb; the shaft was covered in symmetrical, round bumps that would catch on his rim.

He licked his lips and tried. “With...with my hands?”

Desmond laughed and yanked him back. “What do you think?” He forced Oliver onto his back and settled himself between his legs, and removed one nipple clamp, his touch delicate. Milk began leaking almost immediately and Desmond licked it off, tongue gentle and soothing. “I won’t make you go down there if you don’t want to,” he said. “Believe me, Olli-slut, I’m fine staying here for as long as you want.”

A hand reached down into the front of Oliver’s armor and wrapped itself around his cock. Desmond began to pump him, slow and leisurely. He’d replaced the cock ring after Galen and Aimon had left; being touched like this felt like torture, but the kind that Oliver couldn’t resist. 

“Did you know,” Desmond said. “According to Galen, nobody’s ever figured out how many rooms this dungeon has? It’s all random. Well - not entirely, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” He grinned. “Or maybe you haven’t, Olli-slut, you’re pretty clueless.” He pressed a fingernail into the slit of Oliver’s cock, and laughed when Oliver gasped.

“It’s pretty lucky for you that the exit key spawned so early,” Desmond continued. “You’ve still got some semblance of personality left. If you don’t take it now, you might have to go through a thousand rooms before another one shows up. And by then, who knows what you’ll be like?”

It felt so good to be handled like this. The easy glide of Desmond’s hand on him, the wet suck of his mouth at his breast. But Desmond’s words hurt, in a way Oliver couldn’t articulate. Nothing about them was overtly cruel, but his chest ached all the same. The contrast - softness and hurt - left him weak and dizzy. Pliable.

“Maybe that’s what you want,” Desmond said. He licked his lips clean and replaced the clamp. Gave his tits a playful little tug, and took his hand off Oliver’s cock. Oliver keened, trying to chase the contact, but Desmond held him down easily and kissed the tears away from the corners of his eyes. When had they appeared?

“I don’t judge,” said his baby brother. “If you want to turn into a mindless fuckdoll, I’m happy to assist.”

*

Oliver went into the pit. What else could he do?

It preyed on his mind, how much Desmond had changed since they entered. Desmond was a good kid. Oliver had practically raised him. He’d run away with Desmond when he was 9, his brother only 5 at the time. He doubted Desmond even remembered their father, which was for the best. The man had always said,  _ I don’t fuck kids. _ And then grinned, in a way that horribly reminded Oliver of Desmond now.  _ But you won’t be a kid forever, right? Just remember, kiddo. You can squirt all you want out of that little cock of yours, but if I ever catch you playing with your holes, I’m going to take that as a sign you’re ready to grow up. _

He’d always been afraid to do more than touch his cock. He’d forgotten why.

_ His holes are for my exclusive use,  _ Desmond had said.  _ My brother’s cunt hasn’t had any cock in it but mine. And it never will. _

The dungeon had broken something in Oliver. Maybe it had done the same to Desmond, only what lay in his brother was their father’s legacy.

_ This kid is going to be my vessel, _ their father had said to him when Desmond was born.  _ I know I don’t look it, kiddo, but I’m getting old. It’s gonna be time to retire soon. And in my field, retirement doesn’t come with a pension. So I’ve made some plans. I’ve got this new body, all young and healthy and strong. Bred myself a cute little wife, custom built to ride its cock. Gotta raise you two both up properly of course, but I have to admit, it’s more fun than I expected. _

Oliver stared ahead as Desmond placed him in the harness. The restraints went around his knees, connected by a bar that ran up to a collar around his neck, spreading him open. A version of what Desmond had done to keep him open before. Desmond retied his arms to go over his head, attached to the chain that would lower him down into the pit.

Desmond surveyed him. Like their father, Desmond was always laughing. His charisma was innate, the sheer force of his personality filling a room wherever he went. Handsome, magnetic, charming. Being with him was like being with the sun.

He was smiling now.

“This is a great look,” Desmond said. “Really suits you.” He pressed his fingers into Oliver’s cunt, wetting them in his slick and come, and brought them to Oliver’s mouth to be cleaned.

Oliver licked them, but didn’t respond. He didn’t want to go into the pit. Didn’t want to fuck himself on the key. But he wanted to leave, so badly he could taste it. Oliver was ruined beyond repair, but Desmond could still be fine if they got out in time.

Desmond pinched his clit. Oliver squeaked, thighs trembling as they tried to clamp together defensively. “Hey,” Desmond said. “I just complimented you. Where are your manners?”

“Thank you,” Oliver said. He felt numb all the way through. The only places where he seemed to feel anything were his cunt and hole, hot and quivering in anticipation of a fuck.

“I wouldn’t mind having you right now.” Desmond tilted his head, considering this option. “Eh. Better not. What if you’re too loose to bring the key up? That would be fucking hilarious. The good news, big bro, is that the key takes either hole.” He beamed. “Isn’t it nice, to have a choice about these things?”

He didn’t wait for a reply, going over to the pulley and cranking it. Oliver descended into the pit, holes first.

Desmond’s aim wasn’t very good. Oliver ended up too low and just off to the side of the key. If he swung himself forwards, he could just about rub his cunt against it. Up close, the key was intimidatingly huge, almost as thick around as Oliver’s arm. Somehow, it glowed.

“Pull me up,” he called out. “I’m too far.”

Desmond’s voice came drifting down. “Once you’re down there, the pulley won’t activate without the key.” He sounded exasperated. “Sometimes I think you’re the dumbest bitch I’ve ever stuck my cock in. Weren’t you listening before?”

Oliver’s fingers scrabbled at the chain, trying to gain enough purchase to lift himself up. He managed what felt like an inch or two, and then sank back down, shoulders groaning with the effort.

“I can’t!”

“Then I guess you’re stuck down there.”

What was the point of having the pit so big? It only housed one object.

Oliver’s mind, sluggish and slow, began to work. How many legendary items were left unattended? Even if the spawn rate was low, it couldn’t be as simple as just picking it up off the ground. There had to be a trick.

Something brushed against his leg.

Oliver yelped, more out of surprise than fear. That changed as a long, black coil wrapped itself around his waist. It left behind it an oozing chill, his skin prickling in goosebumps. He thrashed, trying to buck it off, but the coil tightened its grip. Another one joined it, slithering over his shoulder to circle his tits. A cold little sucker attached itself to his nipple. His clamps were pulled off with an obscenely cheerful jingle, leaving his tits to swing and leak.

Comprehension dawned.

“No!” He hauled himself up, trying to climb up the chain and escape the probing tentacles that way.  _ “No! _ Desmond, there’s something - there’s something down here!”

A third reached into his armor and pulled his cock out. He could  _ feel _ it twining around him, the thick, wet rubbery feel of it dragged over his flesh. When he looked down he could see it had encased him completely. Only the head of his cock peeked out. The thin tip of the tentacle teased the slit. A new fear bloomed in his mind. He shrieked.

Desmond sounded irritated. “Are you or are you not a Level 8 adventurer? Deal with it, big bro.”

Oliver had never fought anything while tied up, weaponless, and with his holes on display. He wanted to tell Desmond that it was an unreasonable expectation, and plead to be rescued. He’d return, if only he could do so unbound and with a weapon. He’d use his cunt or his hole to bring the key up and do it with a smile on his face, and thank his brother for giving him the opportunity to fill his greedy hole. He’d stay in the dungeon and take on more horrible rooms, if Desmond would just save him right now.

The words never came out. Another tentacle invaded his mouth. It wasn’t anything like a cock, which would have at least been familiar. It was cold and tasted faintly metallic, a bitter undertone. It moved in his mouth like a finger, stroking behind his teeth, rubbing itself on his tongue. He bit it as hard as he could, but his teeth made no dent in the rubbery flesh. Another tentacle joined the first, made its way down his throat and stretched his jaw so wide all he could do was push against it with his tongue and drool. The tentacles seemed to like that.

A tentacle pushed aside his armor. He tried to lean away, to swing his cunt and hole away from the questing tentacles. His armor - his  _ panties _ \- were so fucking useless. They gave him stat boosts, but they offered nothing in terms of immediate protection. Left him vulnerable to anything that wanted a taste.

That was probably the point. 

Something fastened itself over his clit. It was so  _ cold. _ It could have all been more bearable, if the tentacles didn’t feel like they were going to freeze him to death. He whimpered around the ones in his mouth.

The tentacle around his cock was tiring of toying with his slit and began to push in. He screamed. It made his throat vibrate, and the tentacles pulsed happily in him.

It didn’t hurt. That was the worst part of this dungeon, like no matter how humiliated and degraded he became, none of it was actually meant to hurt him. At most he felt sore or achey, but even that could get him off. The tentacle entering his cock - the numbing cold spreading over his clit - the things choking him from the inside - it should have been awful.

It wasn’t. He was uncomfortable, shivering insanely as he squirmed away from the tentacles. It felt like having an ice cube pressed against his clit. But he was also so hot all the time, as though a fire grew inside his skin. Every time Desmond came in him, Oliver’s temperature seemed to rise a little more, like he was nothing but a creature made of heat and need. At last, something was bringing him back down to normal.

A tentacle slipped into his hole. Oliver’s body offered no resistance. Gave in easily to the penetration, because it felt good and that was all he cared about. It was so, so cold, and it was such a relief. Another slipped in, stretching him the way he yearned for, and wherever he burned, the tentacles soothed. They refused to fuck him in unison, pushing and pulling in opposite directions, so that no matter what there was always something moving in his hole.

He fucked himself back on the tentacles the best he could, surrendering to their invasion. The tentacle around his waist lifted him and took the tension off his neck and shoulders. The two tasting his hole separated, pulled in opposite directions and held him open for a third to enter. This one didn’t bother fucking him - just pushed in, seeking for any remaining vestige of warmth to devour. He could see it moving beneath his skin and sobbed at the sight, overwhelmed. 

The tentacles hadn’t touched his cunt. Left it to drip, open and desperate, though every now and then one brushed over his lips, sending a comforting chill through his body. Why not? he thought. What was wrong with his cunt?

Every time the tentacles in his hole moved, they pushed him forward. Just a little. Just enough for the tapered tip of the key to give his cunt a cool kiss, tantalizingly close. But not enough to get it in him. 

The next time a tentacle pushed into him, he swung with the motion. Let himself be fucked forward onto the cock key. The head caught in his cunt, and for a single, horrible second he thought he had failed and it would fall out of him.

The tentacles in his hole moved together. Pushed him the rest of the way onto the key and held him suspended above it, letting it swirl around in his entrance, pressing at the edges. Then the one around his waist relaxed and let gravity do the rest of the work.

He sank onto the key slowly, eyes rolling, holes spasming wildly. His limbs twitched and flailed in their restraints. The key wasn’t like the glass bottle, for all that it felt cold in his cunt. It felt like - like flesh, alive but dormant.

The tentacles were  _ helping _ him. The idea of it was ludicrous, and yet it was undeniable. They guided him up and down the key, pushing him to the base then fucking him back up, helping his cunt slick it up. The bumps and ridges caught on him, made him gush and coat the key with evidence of his own desire. He could feel the tip inside him, starting to twitch weakly as though it were waking up.

His orgasm rippled through him, an easy, effortless pleasure, without the dull scrape of shame that scratched along his nerve endings. Nothing like the searing inferno that ripped through him when Desmond’s cock split him open, incinerating any scrap of self he possessed. Just the smooth glide of Oliver’s holes riding what was given to them, without concern for anything but their own pleasure. Oliver, using the tentacles instead of being used himself.

The key throbbed in his cunt. He could feel the movement spreading through his whole body as it opened him up, waves of sensation radiating outwards. 

The chains connected to his harness tightened. A cranking noise, and then he began to rise in the air. The tentacle around his waist curled, bringing him back down, and he whimpered, pulled between the two. And then the tentacles relaxed, withdrawing slowly. He could feel every inch of them as they pulled out, a reminder of how deep they’d gone. The last were the ones in his mouth, caressing his tongue as they retreated.

“Clench that cunt tight,” Desmond said. Oliver tilted his head back, blinking sweat and tears out of his eyes, and saw his brother’s face leaning over the edge. Desmond had been watching the whole time. “I’d hate for the key to fall out of you on the way up.”

There was no chance of that. The key had penetrated deep, the pointed tip catching in him. But obedience was a hard habit to break, and Oliver squeezed his cunt around the bumps along the base and whined.

Desmond looked him over. His cock was out, the reddish-purple head protruding from the end of his fist as he pumped it slowly. He had that familiar grin on his face, warm and bright and mean.

“That was a great little show you put on down there,” he said cheerfully and patted Oliver’s packed clit. “You should be proud, Olli-slut. It’s not every cunt that can take a cock like that. Shit, you’re freezing. You probably need to warm up, huh. Don’t worry.” Teeth flashed. “I’ll take care of you.”

He took Oliver off the suspension but didn’t bother to unbuckle him. Just lay him down on his back and sighed in happiness, looking at the ruin of Oliver’s hole, then lined himself up and pushed in. After the tentacles, Oliver was so loose that he barely felt the stretch; what made him wail was the heat of Desmond’s cock. The wildfire of his lust.

“Fuck,” Desmond swore. “It’s like fucking a corpse.” He slapped Oliver’s face. Oliver convulsed around him from the shock and pain of it. “Say ‘thank you.’” He didn’t give Oliver a chance to respond, reaching between them to start playing with the key lodged in his body. He’d learned from watching Galen; instead of fucking him with it, Desmond began to twist it back and forth, stirring up his cunt until the sound of his slick squelching around in him could be heard.

“Thank you,” Oliver said and remembered to clench himself the way Desmond had trained him to. Whatever clarity he’d attained in the pit burned away. Desmond used his cock like a weapon, fucked his hole like he wanted Oliver to die from it. Oliver submitted.

“For what?” Desmond prompted. His face was flushed scarlet, sweat beading along his neck and dampening the collar of his shirt. The whole time they’d been here, he’d only removed his clothes once, and that was to bathe.

Oliver had to think about it. There was a right answer and a wrong answer. The right answer meant Desmond would continue to fuck him, and maybe after he would tell him he’d done a good job. The wrong answer meant he’d be hit again. On his clit or cunt, both of which Desmond favored. And then his brother, the person he loved most in this world, would call him stupid again, good for only taking cock.

“For - for fucking my hole,” Oliver said, “even though it’s cold and loose. Thank you for taking care of your slutty brother.”

Desmond bent down and kissed one bouncing tit, and began massaging the other, pinching the nipple hard.

“See?” Desmond said. “We could be so happy together.”

When he came, it was so hot. Liquid fire, filling Oliver back up from the inside, spreading through his whole body. Burning away anything Desmond didn’t like.

*

For taking a tentacle in every hole, Oliver earned an achievement.  _ Complete Penetration! Achieve simultaneous penetration in all available holes. _ Desmond laughed himself sick, and asked him if there was a reward.

“The key,” Oliver said quietly. He read the item description, but it was vague.  _ A mysterious item, appearing only once every thousand years. No one knows what it does. One day its owner may return.  _ It still rested in him, pressing against his walls every time he moved. Desmond showed no interest in removing it, had him sit with his legs open so he could fuck it in and out of Oliver’s cunt. As a reward for his obedience, he’d been released from the harness, but he had to hold his cunt open while Desmond played with him.

“I can’t wait to see your gape,” Desmond said. “What a great present. Maybe I’ll take it out and put it in your asspussy. Doesn’t that sound fun?

“Nobody’s ever going to want to put their cock in you,” he continued. “Not anymore. If you want one, you’re going to have to come to me for it. Your own brother. And why’s that?”

“Because you - you love me.”

“Good job,” Desmond said. “I knew you’d get it.”

*

When they finally exited the dungeon, Oliver was afraid to look at his brother. What if it was too late? What if he turned around and Desmond was unchanged?

Would Oliver stay? He could think of no worse fate than to remain with his ensorcelled brother, abusing his altered state for the sake of having a willing cock. That would make Oliver a monster. If Desmond were still under the influence of the dungeon, then Oliver would have to escape, though he was unsure of how fast he could move with a toy stuffed up his cunt. He would have to try, though, because Oliver had no chance of freeing Desmond if he remained with him.

He tensed, readying himself.

Silence.

And then Desmond spoke. “Oliver,” he said, and his voice was filled with grief. “I’m - I’m so sorry. How could I have done all that?”

Relief, thick and heady, slammed into him. Oliver’s knees buckled beneath him. Desmond caught him, hands warm and broad along the bare skin of his sides. Desmond looked horrified. 

Even reeling from the shock of his true self returning, he remembered to undo his shirt and drape it over Oliver, letting him clothe himself for the first time.

“It’s not your fault,” Oliver said, and wrapped his hands around Desmond’s. He tried to summon up a smile; it was easier than he’d expected. Oliver was a slut, born to ride his brother’s cock one way or another, but he’d done this. He’d done his duty as Desmond’s older brother and  _ saved _ him.

Desmond helped him remove his armor and the key. He looked close to tears the whole time, fingers trembling, and as he touched the bite mark over Oliver’s shoulder, a troubled expression flashed over his face.

“Was that me? Did I hurt you?”

The cock ring was easy enough to remove, but he struggled with the clit ring. Oliver had to part the folds of his cunt himself while Desmond dug his fingers into him, clumsy and inexperienced. Oliver tried to conceal the effect that Desmond’s touch had on him, but his body had been conditioned to react.

“I’m sorry,” Desmond said. “You’re so wet down here. I can’t get a good grip on it at all.”

“It’s okay. Just keep trying,” Oliver said. “Just - just pinch it if you have to.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Desmond said, earnestly. “Maybe we should leave it on.”

Oliver shook his head. He didn’t have the words to explain what it felt like, to have the most tender and delicate part of himself exposed for other’s amusement, but he wanted - he wanted his body back. He had Desmond back, and he wanted to forget about the dungeon and try to return to their normal life.

“Okay,” Desmond said. “I’ll try harder.”

He got it off, twisting and tugging on Oliver’s clit to do so. On the ring, Oliver reminded himself, but his body didn’t care, rushing towards that familiar pleasure-pain sensation.

Desmond’s eyes went wide. “Did you just -”

Oliver blushed, pressing his thighs together to try and hide the slick leaking from him. His come splattered across the front of Desmond’s chest and dripped down.

Desmond touched the come on his chest, shocked.

“I’ll clean it up!” Oliver cried. “I’ll - don’t hate me,” he begged, and Desmond’s face softened.

“I could never hate you,” he said as Oliver wiped him clean. He had nothing but the shirt Desmond gave him to do it with, but he used it, desperate to erase the evidence of his slutty body. It left a mark on his shirt, a smear of white drying in the afternoon air, and Desmond looked at it and then turned away.

Next was the key. Desmond had had no problem playing with it in the dungeon, but out here his touch became nervous and hesitant. It slipped out of his fingers, slid back inside Oliver who tried to bite back his cries. Desmond pushed his fingers into his wet cunt, hissing with frustration, while Oliver blinked tears away from how - how  _ open _ he felt, stretched to the limit while his brother rooted around in his body.

By accident, Desmond’s knuckles brushed up against his clit. Oliver writhed, feeling the way his slick coated Desmond’s fingers, his walls ecstatic over the intrusion. Couldn’t swallow the helpless, drawn out moan.

“I can’t get it from this angle,” Desmond said, frustration in his voice. “Can you - maybe get on your hands and knees?”

Oliver obeyed, shakily turning over. He hid his face in the crook of his elbow, not wanting to watch as Desmond stared into his cunt. He missed the way Desmond’s mouth curled at that, dark and possessive, before it smoothed out.

“Shit,” Desmond said, as he pulled the key out a few inches and then let it go. It rocketed back in, while Oliver’s thighs trembled around it. “I dropped it. It - it would just be a lot easier, Oliver, if your asspussy weren’t so wet too. It’s really messy back here.”

Oliver mewled as Desmond thrust his fingers back inside, apparently attempting to grab the key firmly. He could feel the hard press of Desmond’s knuckles as his fingers wrapped around the key, massaging his insides.

“I - I -” Desmond’s fingers twisted inside him, the key too slippery for him. Oliver couldn’t  _ think.  _ Couldn’t speak. His mind held nothing but the shame of being seen like this, no matter how many times he reminded himself that Desmond had seen him like this. That made it worse, actually, a sick coil of arousal as he remembered all the ways in which he’d failed his brother. But he had to say it, forced them out with a sharp cry as his cunt and hole clenched and he rode Desmond’s hand through another miserable, guilty orgasm.  _ “I trust you!” _

“I’ll do my best,” Desmond said, and added another finger.

*

Oliver and Desmond made their way to a nearby town. Oliver couldn’t go into town dressed as he was - or wasn’t - so Desmond left Oliver to hide in the outskirts. Oliver’s breasts leaked continuously, leaving two wet patches on the front of his shirt, and the feeling of the damp, scratchy fabric on his nipples made him clench his thighs together in a vain attempt to control his arousal.

Desmond returned, wearing a new shirt and bringing a skirt and blanket for Oliver. He coughed, cheeks red, and said, “I didn’t think pants were a great idea. You might...your slick…”

“It’s okay,” Oliver said quickly, taking the skirt. It wasn’t, but Oliver didn’t hold that against Desmond. It was no one’s fault but Oliver’s.

“I told the innkeeper you’re my wife,” Desmond continued in that familiar, awkward way. He seemed to be having a hard time looking Oliver in the eye, his eyes drawn to the wet stains on his front. “Cause of the...you know.” He pointed, misjudging the distance and poking Oliver in the nipple. Oliver curled away, yelping, and Desmond flushed. “Sorry!”

“It’s okay,” Oliver repeated, and both of them ignored the drip of his cunt between his legs.

He put the skirt on, grateful for its length. It reached the ground and covered him up fully. He wrapped the blanket over his shoulders, hiding his dirty shirt from view. It was embarrassing to crossdress, and for a moment it occurred to him that Desmond could have named him his sister instead of his wife, but then Desmond took his hand and the thought slid away. 

Oliver was grateful for the room, grateful for the bathtub, grateful for - for everything, really. For Desmond being willing to stay with him. He couldn’t stop himself from saying  _ thank you, _ some part of him the well-trained slut. It came out in the same helpless, breathy tone as he’d used when he’d thanked Desmond for fucking him.

Desmond said, “I’ll go get us dinner.”

He left, closing the door behind him softly. Oliver let out a frustrated breath. Desmond came back and they ate in silence, avoiding eye contact, and went to sleep in the dark. Oliver lay next to his brother, back turned, trying to ignore the way his body expected to be pinned down and opened up. That was over now, and he was happy.

He felt better for the thought. It would take time to move past their experiences in the dungeon, but it could be done. Desmond hadn’t displayed any disgust, only confusion and hurt, and it wasn’t  _ good _ but it wasn’t beyond hope.

They could be brothers again. That was all Oliver wanted. It was why he’d run away, though he’d only possessed a dim understanding of their father’s intentions. He’d loved Desmond from the moment he’d laid eyes on him, that pink and scowling infant waving a fist at the world. And Desmond loved him, and that would be enough to carry them through.

*

He woke up to the familiar feeling of a cock in his cunt, his hole spread open around thick fingers stroking his walls. His mouth was dry - and then he woke up further and realized that someone had stuffed the scrap of his armor into his mouth to gag him. He flailed, trying to escape, and learned that his arms had been bound to the headboard.

Desmond leaned over him. He grabbed each breast in his hands and squeezed them hard, pulling them up so that Oliver had no choice but to arch up off the bed.

“Big brother,” he said, his tone helpless. “You’re such a slut in your sleep. What else was I supposed to do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all VERY much for coming along on this journey with me! i appreciate every comment and kudos so very much :)
> 
> there will most likely be a sequel. probably several sequels! if you want to be notified about them, you can subscribe to the series page. i'm planning on doing a series of loosely connected short stories that would follow desmond and oliver's exploits and explore some of the backstory i set up in this chapter. and some stories about oliver getting dicked down by people other than desmond, and how desmond copes with that. (the answer is poorly.) plus a general plotless monsterfucking story, where oliver has to rescue desmond from a dungeon filled with monsters, and learns that monsters are no longer interested in fighting him. it would be called Monster Party lmao. everything would pretty much be like 90% dub/non-con but tbh i assume everyone who's made it this far is fine with that.
> 
> i am taking kink suggestions, tho i can't guarantee anything. 
> 
> this was my first foray into writing explicit porn of any kind, and it, uh, got away from me. LOL. i thought some people might be interested in some worldbuilding/character notes i had in the back of my head, so here goes:
> 
> \- the sex dungeon was created centuries ago by some unknown and extremely kinky magic users, who set it up as a fun way to pass the time and would be able to heal each other from any damage. that it has become a tool for people to create sex slaves would be very, very upsetting to them. some people do partner up and go through it for fun though. as desmond insinuates, the dungeon is responsive to the user's desires.
> 
> \- the dungeon has zero built in mental side effects. oliver is deep in denial, and galen is just very good at what he does.
> 
> \- aimon was originally going to be an extremely creative and sadistic character, who despite being close to completely broken, finds a way to pretty viciously non-con and humiliate oliver after their foursome. i thought it would be a fun inversion of the usual cum dumpster character, and that desmond would enjoy the chance to further degrade oliver in the aftermath. aimon ended up being a pretty kind service top instead, albeit one who's in a very bad situation, and will be reappearing in a sequel.
> 
> \- desmond is straight up a sociopath. originally i wanted to give him a little victim blaming speech about how oliver brought all this on himself by not letting him fuck him in chapter 1, but desmond was like "nah fuck that, i have zero regrets." i think his best quality is that he genuinely doesn't want oliver to get completely mind broken. his worst quality is that it's because it makes his dick hard when oliver is upset over it.
> 
> \- i can't fucking believe that magical tiddy juice ended up being a thing, what the fuck. aimon got a huge amount of it.
> 
> \- oliver is real dumb but i hope it makes sense, psychologically speaking, why he's sticking with desmond even through all this
> 
> \- desmond has molested oliver in his sleep before and has an intense kink for it
> 
> \- oliver is basically a vanilla dude who has a praise kink and likes it when people are nice to him. those...aren't very compatible with desmond
> 
> \- the owner of that cock key is gonna come looking for it sooner or later
> 
> \- i learned that i have an extremely limited vocabulary and had to basically write with a thesaurus next to me then read everything out loud to make sure it didn't sound ridiculous. thank god i live alone. in the end i just settled on being a bit repetitive.
> 
> \- i pretty much only included tentacle porn because i wanted to see if i could do it. i read a whole bunch trying to get a feel for it, and a lot of them include aphrodisiacs, so just for fun, i included anti-horny tentacles that cool you down. i found tentacle porn to be REALLY difficult to write tho so i'm not sure i'll include that again.
> 
> \- even the tentacles are nicer to oliver than desmond is.


End file.
